


Enough

by FoggyGrays



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Hero Derek Morgan, Hurt Spencer Reid, M/M, Rape Recovery, Slow Burn, unconventional romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggyGrays/pseuds/FoggyGrays
Summary: Out of habit, Morgan checks his phone, and is surprised to find a missed call. He’s usually good about catching every sound his phone makes, like there’s some psychic connection born of decades of it waking him up to emergencies across the country. It’s from Reid. He plays the voicemail, and it’s clearly an accidental dial as the voices are muffled, and Morgan is about to hang up when he hears Reid’s voice, a little louder and filled with fear, beg, “Please, James, don’t!”
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 312
Kudos: 786





	1. Voicemail

The music is loud, the lights low, and the crowd around smells like sweat and cheap cologne. Morgan extricates himself from his lovely dance partner, kissing her hand in farewell, and the temperature drops a full degree with each step he takes from the dance floor. This is his Friday night workout, his way of kicking off the weekend to forget the days of chasing serial killers, a reality he could be forced back to at any moment, any phone call.

The night air is cold, colder as it steals the moisture from his skin, and he clicks his FOB to get his car to shout its location. He runs to it, starting the engine to get the vents to blow warmth. Out of habit, he checks his phone, and is surprised to find a missed call. He’s usually good about catching every sound his phone makes, like there’s some psychic connection born of decades of it waking him up to emergencies across the country. It’s from Reid. He plays the voicemail, and it’s clearly an accidental dial as the voices are muffled, and Morgan is about to hang up when he hears Reid’s voice, a little louder and filled with fear, beg, “Please, James, don’t!” Morgan’s entire world zeros in on this voicemail. He turns up the volume, shoving the phone hard into his ear.

“James,” Reid sobs, “it hurts when you’re mad. Please!” There’s a slap and a whimper and Morgan can’t breathe. He can’t risk making a sound and missing a moment. Reid is in pain. “James! I love you! I love you, please don’t do this!” Reid screams. It sounds horrible and squeezes Morgan’s heart. Morgan is shaking now, clutching the phone like he might be able to reach Reid through it and help. Reid cries out, “Hurts! Please, it hurts!” and his voice is cut off with a grunt as he’s hit. He whimpers again, moans helplessly. 

Morgan wants to pretend he doesn’t know what’s happening, but the rhythmic slapping of skin and Reid’s sharp answering cries are unmistakable. The voicemail cuts off and he’s dropped into silence, his ears ringing as they desperately try to hear anything more, anything that will tell him how hurt Reid is. His eyes want to cry but he blinks away the tears. He can’t break down. He has to move, has to drive. He has to get to Reid. 

He doesn’t know where Reid is, not for sure, but he knows where the kid lives and he’s driving there before he realizes it. He parks at a terrible angle and takes the stairs three at a time and almost bangs on Reid’s door before he catches himself. He can’t seem like a threat. He doesn’t know what’s behind this door, but he knows he’s not expected. No one knows he heard. If this James is still here, Morgan has the upper hand, but only if he’s calm. 

He knocks twice, straining to hear anything on the other side. It’s silent for a long time. He knocks again. There are footsteps approaching, it sounds like a single person. Morgan takes in a shaky breath. There’s no reason to speculate, no reason to panic.

The footsteps reach the doorway, the peephole darkens. “Morgan?” It’s Reid’s voice and Morgan feels like dropping to his knees in gratitude, but the situation hasn’t been secured yet. The chain slides off and the deadbolt twists and the door opens. 

Reid looks small. He’s in a robe, his hair wet and clinging to his face, and his arms come protectively around his torso. “Morgan, what are you doing here?”

“Is James here?” Morgan takes a step inside, scanning the room. It appears empty. There’s still the kitchen and bedroom suite to check. He steps further, putting himself between Reid and the dark recesses of the apartment.

“What?” Reid stands there, still holding the open door, and he looks hurt, sad.

Morgan will get to that later. He needs to make sure the threat is gone before anything else. “James. Is he here?”

Reid shakes his head, biting his lip. “No, he’s gone. How…”

Morgan sighs. The threat isn’t here. Reid is safe. He takes the door from Reid’s grip and closes it, doing up the locks. 

“Morgan?” Reid’s voice is confused, nervous.

Morgan turns to him and runs his hand over his head as he tries to think of how to word this. “Reid, your phone called me. It left a message.”

“What?” Reid is brilliant, but his brain can’t add two and two right now.

“Pretty boy,” Morgan says gently, “I heard what James did to you.”

“No…” Reid’s eyes go wide in horror. He stumbles backwards until he hits a wall and winces in pain. His legs give out, he crumples to the floor, curling onto his side to lean on one leg to prevent putting any weight on his bottom. He’s injured, hurting.

Morgan sits cross-legged a few feet in front of him, “Reid? I need you to stay with me, okay?”

Reid’s eyes are distant, but he nods.

“Where is James?”

Reid twitches at the name. “He’s gone.”

“Where did he go?” He keeps his tone light, his face encouraging.

“I… I don’t… I don’t know where…” His voice tightens with tears, “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. That’s okay. We’ll deal with that. First, I think we should get to a hospital. Okay?”

Reid shakes his head, “I already took a shower. There isn’t any evidence.”

“Reid, I think we should go to the hospital in case you’re  _ hurt.” _

He shakes his head again, pulling in tighter to himself.

“Kid, I know it can be scary, but I’ll be with you the whole time-”

“Please,” Reid begs, and it sounds so much like his voice on that message. “Please no.”

Morgan backs off, hands placatingly raised, “Okay, we don’t have to. It’s your choice. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

Reid’s breath hitches and comes out a sob. He drops his face, a miserable keening rips from his throat. 

“Oh, Pretty Boy,” Morgan feels his heart breaking. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” he tries to control his breathing, takes in a huge breath and it gets stuck in his lungs, coming out in fits. His body shakes. “I- I was okay b-before-” He can’t finish, but Morgan understands. He was okay when he thought his secret was safe, that no matter how awful what he went through was, at least he didn’t have to face the shame of someone finding out. Morgan understands  _ all too well. _

“It’s okay. I’m here for you and I just want to help.”

He sniffles, “I was washing my sheets.”

That’s more evidence destroyed. Damn it. “Okay, would you like help with that?”

He shakes his head, “They’re in the dryer.”

That means the attack occurred at least forty-five minutes ago. Morgan could check his phone to see for sure, but he can’t take his attention from Reid right now. The kid is shaking still, but at least he’s present. They can get through this as long as they can work together. “Kid, I’m not comfortable leaving you here alone. Can I sleep on the couch?”

Reid shakes his head and Morgan feels his stomach drop at the thought of abandoning him now, but then Reid speaks, “I don’t want to sleep where…” 

“Can I take you to my place? I have a spare room you can stay in as long as you’d like.”

“Yes, please.”

“All right, we can go now. I’ll help you pack. Do you want help standing up?”

With another shake of his head, Reid leans heavily against the wall to get himself to his feet. He draws his hands down his face, wiping away the tears. He walks gingerly into his bedroom, the stripped mattress a monument to the words he can’t yet speak. A ripped shirt hangs off a dresser handle, where it landed when it was torn from his body. Reid grabs it and throws it in the far corner, out of sight. He grabs clothing at random, shoving them into a bag from his closet. He looks around, lost in his own home, “I need to find my phone…”

“It’s near the bed.” Morgan regrets the words the instant they leave his mouth. He only knows this because of what he heard on that voicemail. Reid winces, turning away, and Morgan decides he can apologize for this by finding the device himself. He crouches by the nightstand, looking under the bed. He lifts the mattress from the frame, and the phone is loosened from its hiding place and falls to the floor. “Got it.” 

Setting the mattress back in its place, an image flashes in Morgan’s mind, one that matches the audio he heard in that dreadful message, with Reid crying into the pillow and some faceless mass above him, hurting him. Morgan squeezes his eyes shut against the violent scene but it doesn’t help, the picture is inside his head. 

“Can we go?” Reid asks meekly. Morgan is too close to where it happened, staring at it like he can see, and it feels like its own violation.

Morgan snaps himself to it, “Of course, Pretty Boy. You get your toothbrush?”

Reid gives a small nod.

“All right, lets go.” He follows Reid out of the room, sighing in sympathy at the limp Reid has developed around the pain within. “Are you gonna be okay walking downstairs?”

Reid pauses. “It’s not too bad. I’ll be okay.” His voice is soft. Talking about this is humiliating. He starts walking again, and he’s slow.

“If you want a head start, you can hand me your keys and I’ll lock up. The car isn’t too far.” 

Reid obeys, pulling them off the hook and dropping them into Morgan’s outstretched hand. Morgan shuts off the light, pulling the door closed on this part of the night, and locks it away.


	2. Nightmare

Morgan turns from the door to find Reid stopped at the top of the stairs, waiting for him. He looks nervous, eyes darting around the empty hallway. Morgan hurries to him, careful not to touch, but keeping protectively close. “Ready?”

Reid nods, gripping the handrail as he descends one step at a time. His soft cotton pants are hanging low enough on his hips to drag against the floor around his old pair of slippers. He looks young, vulnerable, and Morgan finds himself hovering.

When the cold air hits Reid, he tugs his robe tight as if it were a proper coat, but it’s terrycloth and damp around the collar where his hair has dripped. Morgan wants to offer his own coat, but he doesn’t bring one when he goes clubbing, and he doesn’t think it would be welcome anyway. He hurries forward to open the passenger door and get Reid sheltered as quickly as possible.

Reid offers a weak smile before slowly lowering himself into the seat. He bites his lip to keep from making a sound, but his eyes speak his pain. Morgan closes him in, running around the hood to hop in behind the wheel. Pulling out, his rear wheel grazes the curb, which isn’t a big deal except the jolt rips a little whimper from Reid’s throat that stabs Morgan right in the chest, so he drives carefully, slowly, all the way home. 

Morgan grabs Reid’s bag and guides him up the walk to his door. His home doesn’t have stairs, just a single step up to the porch which Reid seems to climb easily enough. As soon as they enter, Morgan leads the way to the guest room. It’s an in-law, complete with it’s own bathroom and private door to the backyard. “Can I get you anything, Pretty Boy? Are you hungry? You want some water?”

“No, thank you.” Reid’s voice is barely above a whisper and he’s shivering in the doorway.

“Let’s get that wet robe off you, okay? I’ll get you a towel so you can finish drying your hair.” He ducks into the bathroom and comes back with a plush green hand towel and sets it on the bed for Reid to pick up at his convenience. Morgan is making every effort to keep his distance, to make sure Reid understands he won’t be touched here without his permission.

Reid slides off the robe, bundling it and leaving it atop the dresser, and that’s when Morgan notices the bruises on his wrists: dark magenta marks in the shape of hands. He quickly has to look away before Reid catches him staring, and there’s a sour taste in his mouth, the beginnings of nausea.

“I’m just down the hall, Kid. If you need anything, just shout and I’ll be here. Okay?” Morgan waits for the slight bob of a nod before he steps out, leaving the door half open to make Reid’s voice easier to hear. The kid looks exhausted and he hopes he’ll sleep soon, but Morgan knows that’s not in the cards for himself tonight. 

Morgan brews a pot of coffee and opens his laptop to a blank word document. While the memories are fresh, he needs to write down every detail for the police report. He can carry this burden, at least, so that Reid doesn’t have to. He saves the voicemail and emails himself the file, then stores it on his external harddrive. It’s the best evidence he has in this case. 

He needs to figure out who James is. Garcia could do it in her sleep, which at this hour would be especially convenient, but he isn’t bringing anyone else into this without Reid’s go-ahead. He goes to Reid’s social media accounts, when he remembers Reid doesn’t have any social media accounts, and grumbles.

He’s on his second pot of coffee when he hears whimpering from the guest room. He was expecting this, but it’s still disheartening to know what Reid’s nightmare is about. He gets up, letting his feet hit the floor loudly to announce his approach, but Reid isn’t waking up. He’s twisted up in the sheets, moaning in pain. 

Morgan flips on the light. Reid gasps, turning away from the light, “Please, no! Hurts!”

“Reid, it’s okay!” Morgan calls from the doorway. “He can’t hurt you!”

“Morgan, help!” Reid whines, tears pouring down his face. 

Morgan steps closer, halfway between the door and bed, and shouts louder, “I’m right here, Kid! I’m right here!”

Reid’s eyes flash open, bleary and unseeing. His arms fly out defensively, no longer held down by a phantom assailant. He blinks and everything is clear. He stares wide-eyed at Morgan then hides his face behind his hands and sobs, “I’m sorry!”

“You did nothing wrong, Pretty Boy. We all get nightmares.”

Reid takes a shaky breath, trying to calm himself, then drops his hands to send a watery smile in gratitude.

“You okay now? You think you can go back to sleep?”

His eyes widen in horror and he shakes his head. The demons of his memory are waiting for him to close his eyes.

“All right,” Morgan nods, instantly understanding. “There’s coffee if you want some. The shower’s fully stocked, or you could take a bath. I’ve got homemade chilli in the fridge. I’ll be in the kitchen, you let me know what you want.” He bows out to give Reid privacy to make his decision. 

A few minutes later, Reid quietly steps into the kitchen, so quietly that had Morgan not been waiting for him he might have slipped in unnoticed. Reid pulls out the chair next to Morgan and lowers himself onto the cushion, wincing once he lands, then leans heavily on the table before him. 

“Coffee or chilli?” Morgan offers.

“Coffee, please?” Reid’s voice is rough with tears.

“Coming right up.” Morgan pours a large mug and drops it and a box of C&H sugar in front of Reid. 

“Thank you.”

Morgan taps his laptop, “I’ve been compiling a report for when we speak with the police in the morning. I saved the voicemail, so even without any physical evidence that should be enough-” He stops himself when he sees Reid shrinking in on himself, face pinched in misery. “Hey, Kid, it’s okay.”

Reid shakes his head violently, breath hitching. “I don’t want to talk to the police. I don’t want to talk about it at all.”

Morgan sighs. He clears his throat, trying to find the right words. “Reid, I know it might feel like this will go away if you ignore it, but trust me, it won’t.”

“It’s not the same.”

“You’re right. It’s not. But I can relate, okay?”

“I loved him!” Reid cries, dropping his chin to his chest and letting tears drip into his lap.

It takes a moment and some blurry vision for Morgan to realize he’s crying, as well. To be hurt like that is horrible, but to be hurt in that way by someone you love? You trust? “I’m so sorry, Reid…”

Reid lifts his head, face red and blotchy but eyes deadly serious, “I don’t want to tell anyone. I don’t want the note in my file or the Bureau-mandated psychiatric evaluation or to be another fucking statistic. Thank you for your help, but as soon as I stop crying every five god-damn seconds I’m going to go home and we will never speak of this again.”

“Reid…”

“What?” he snaps, then undercuts the venom with a sniffle. 

“Reid, he hurt you.”

“I was there, Morgan.”

“What if he hurts someone else?”

Reid’s face crumples, “Would that be my fault, too?”

“Kid, hey, none of this is your fault.”

“Then stop putting it on me!” Reid rises to his feet, shoving the chair backwards. “He’s not my responsibility just because-” he cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes against the onslaught of images of what James did to him just hours ago. He whimpers, stumbling quickly back to his room, leaving his coffee untouched as a symbol of how incredibly Morgan just messed that up.

“Shit,” Morgan drags his hands over his head. This is going to be harder than he feared. He has to think, has to plan so he’s ready when Reid is, but every time his mind wanders it brings up that voicemail, creating images to match what he heard and he can’t turn the damn mental movie off. He slams his laptop shut, taking out his frustration on it, and pours himself more coffee.

“I’m sorry.”

Morgan jumps in his seat, turning toward the small voice to see Reid standing in the archway. His arms are hugged around his middle to self-soothe and he’s biting his lower lip anxiously. 

“Reid?”

“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

Morgan shakes his head slowly, “I’ll forgive you for just about anything right now.”

Reid looks like he wants to smile at that, but he just doesn’t have it in him. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

Morgan nods. He really is.

“Did…” Reid’s brow furrow. “When it happened to you… Did you have anyone to talk to?”

“No. I didn’t. And it really messed me up. I don’t want that for you.”

Reid takes that in, lets it settle in his mind and color his thoughts. “Maybe… Maybe in the morning, we could… talk?”

“Yes,” Morgan replies with emphasis. “I’m here for you whenever, okay?”

“Thank you,” Reid nods. “I’m going to sleep now. You… You should, too.”

“All right,” Morgan laughs. Look at the kid trying to take care of him now. “We’ll both go to sleep, and in the morning, we’ll talk. Sounds good.” He watches Reid retreat back to his room and decides then and there to leave his own door open tonight. Sleep or no sleep, he’s not letting Reid suffer another nightmare alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, I'm nervous about this story so chapters may come a bit sporadically as I gain confidence.


	3. Touch

Morgan waits until he hears water running in Reid’s bathroom before he starts up breakfast. He poaches an egg, toasts whole grain bread, and scoops out fruit salad he buys by the tub. One does not get a body like Derek Morgan’s without balanced nutrients. It’s the aroma of coffee that ultimately attracts Reid. 

Fully covered in a matching pair of flannel pajamas, Reid sits in his seat from last night. The sugar is still there, and the coffee is fresh. Morgan sets a plate before him, then gets his own, and they eat. It’s silent aside from the clink of forks on ceramic, and Morgan isn’t going to push. Reid gets through half his meal before setting his fork down. He’s staring down at the table, arms tight around his middle. 

Morgan decides the dishes can wait, “How about we go out to the living room and turn on the TV?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just gets up and moves to the far cushion on the couch. He clicks the remote, lowering the volume to one level above mute. Background noise is always good for thinking, and for baring one’s soul.

Reid sits on the other end of the couch, back against the armrest, knees bent up to his chest, arms wrapped around him. Morgan keeps his body facing the television, offering the illusion of privacy, and waits.

Finally, Reid speaks, his voice soft, “I don’t know what to say.”

Morgan turns just his head toward his friend, eyes cast down below Reid’s face to avoid intimidation, “Just say what’s on your mind.”

Reid sniffs, pulling his knees closer, “I wish you didn’t know.”

It’s an understandable wish and Morgan nods his head at that. “Of anyone your phone could have accidentally dialed, I can probably relate the best.” It’s a terrible club to be in, but Morgan is willing to use any experience he has to help Reid through this.

“He was nice,” Reid sighs. “He bought me books, told me I looked good…” He hangs his head, realizing how little it took for him to fall prey to his trap.

The last thing Morgan wants is for Reid to feel any more shame. “We’ve seen enough abusers to know how effective they are at manipulation. It could happen to anyone.”

“He didn’t even do it right.” His brow furrows, “He hadn’t isolated me yet. I wasn’t reliant on him.”

“That’s a good thing. You’re too smart for him, he couldn’t get that far.”

“He got far enough…”

Morgan winces at that, falls silent.

“I just… I just wanted to be wanted.” It’s a humiliating confession and there are tears in his voice.

“Pretty Boy, anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Reid shakes his head adamantly, almost angrily, “I’m not like you, Morgan! I don’t have options! People don’t like me!”

“Reid, we all like you,” Morgan presses, reminding him of the team, of his family.

“You won’t even  _ touch _ me!”

Morgan is struck by that. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes!” Reid sobs out.

Morgan opens his arms and Reid throws himself across the couch and into his chest. He’s crying hard, breath heaving around the tears, and Morgan wraps his arms around him, holding him through it. He slowly runs his hand up and down his slender back, trying to communicate with touch what words can’t, trying to be the kind of support he would have wanted all those years ago.

“Why did he hurt me?” Reid gasps out.

Morgan keeps his voice low, steady, “He shouldn’t have.”

“I was so scared!”

“I was scared hearing it.”

Reid keens at that, low and miserable.

“But he can’t hurt you anymore, Kid. We’re going to make sure he can’t.”

Reid pulls back, just far enough that he’s no longer touching. “You mean because we’re going to report this to the police?”

“If that’s what you want,” Morgan nods.

“It’s  _ really _ not.”

Morgan sighs, “I know. I didn’t want to report Buford for what he did to me. I kept the burden of that secret for decades. Do I wish sometimes that no one knows about it? Sure. I do. But coming forward, nailing that bastard to the wall for what he did, that liberated me. I didn’t realize how much keeping that secret was eating at me until I let it go.”

“Morgan, you were a child, abused by an authority figure. No one would blame you. I brought what happened onto myself-”

“No. No, you didn’t. Reid-”

“I was so lonely, so  _ desperate _ for someone to love me, I let him hurt me just so he’d  _ hold _ me afterward.” The confession hurts them both, leaves Reid raw like an open wound and makes Morgan wonder how long this was going on right under his nose, how long he wasn’t stopping it.

Morgan just comes out and asks, “How long has he been hurting you?”

Reid leans slightly further away, facing the TV like the infomercial has suddenly become fascinating. “Not always. It wasn’t too bad… He got mad once, got too rough, but I told him it hurt and he stopped. He didn’t… not before…” He gives up on whatever he’s trying to communicate, but it paints enough of a picture.

“What _ did  _ he do?”

Reid chews on his bottom lip, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks. “He… He’d push me. Not hard. He’d grab me, hold me down sometimes. It would scare me, but it never seemed like enough to… He never left bruises, it just hurt.”

“He shouldn’t have done any of that to you. No one should. You’re so special, Reid, one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. You deserve to be treated like that. You’ll find someone who does, Kid, I promise.”

This doesn’t boost Reid’s spirits like Morgan hopes. If anything, he looks more deflated. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“What what’s like?” He hopes that if he can just understand, he can make this better, fix this.

Reid pushes out a laden sigh, “What it’s like to be so  _ alone.”  _ He breaks on that final word, shoulders racking with sobs and he collapses back into Morgan’s chest. His hands cling to Morgan’s shirt, twisting in the material, pressing against his chest. He cries into his shoulder, and Morgan can feel the tears soak through the cotton. He can feel tears trail down his own cheeks, as well. 

He holds Reid to him gently, shushing soothingly. “You’re okay. I’m gonna help you through this. It’s gonna be okay.” He hopes he’s right. Once he can hear Reid’s tears start to subside again, he works on tackling the bigger issue at hand. “Pretty Boy, I want you to know you aren’t alone, okay? You’ve got a lot of people who care about you, the whole team.”

Reid gives a small nod, not particularly moved by the message. He isn’t seeking comradery.

“Hey, Reid, look at me.” Morgan waits for that watery hazel gaze to meet his own, “You know I love you, right? You’re family to me. I would die for you, I would  _ kill _ for you. You hear me?”

A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, not quite reaching his eyes, “Yes.”

“You wanna be held? You just say the word and I’ll hold you any day of the week. You’re my best friend. I’ll hold you until my arms fall off.”

Reid’s laughter is wet but it almost sounds happy.

To prove his point, Morgan pats his chest in invitation. Reid melts back into it, fitting perfectly, and Morgan holds him close, “You deserve to be happy, Kid. The right person is worth the wait. Never settle for anyone less than you deserve. Okay? Because they’re out there, I promise you that. And in the meantime, you can just come to me for the little things, okay?”

Reid snuggles in, finding a comfortable spot with his face tucked under Morgan’s chin. “Little things?”

“Like this. Being held, having someone to talk to about anything you want, a home-cooked meal by a mediocre chef. Whatever you need, I’m here.” It’s a big offer, but Morgan makes it easily. He’ll happily fulfill any wish Reid might have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful support and assurance you all have given me! That was amazing!


	4. Survivor

It’s been quiet for a while, peaceful as Reid rests against Morgan’s chest. His sleep was fitful last night, and this feels so much better. Just the smell of Morgan, the mixture of his cologne and detergent, means safety to Reid. Morgan is the cavalry, the hero who kicks down doors and carries victims to their rescue in those strong arms. Reid feels his eyes grow heavy, his breath shallowing as warmth and security surround him.

A thought occurs to Morgan, a dark and ugly thought that has to be voiced. “Hey, Reid?” He waits for a response. Reid’s voice is rough and groggy as he makes a small sound of acknowledgement, and Morgan continues, “I have to ask you some questions about him, okay?” He hopes he doesn’t have to speak the name for Reid to know who he’s talking about, and then Reid is stiffening against him and Morgan knows they’re on the same page.

It’s a while before Reid responds, small and sad, “What kind of questions?”

“What are the odds this guy is going to try and contact you again?”

“He won’t,” Reid shakes his head against Morgan’s clavicle, pressing in for comfort. “The breakup was...effective.”

Morgan’s hand naturally moves to the back of Reid’s head, petting his hair, “Does he have a key?”

“No.”

“Good. That’s good. Do you keep a spare hidden somewhere he knows about?”

“No.”

“Do you want to block his number from your phone?”

“He won’t call.” Reid is certain of that. He’s alone again.

“Will you tell me his last name?” Morgan hopes it will sprout from Reid’s lips, perhaps by accident, because with a full name he can find the bastard.

“Why do you want his last name?” 

Morgan’s plan is a failure, but he doesn’t try to trick Reid further. The kid deserves honesty. “I know you don’t want to go to the police, and as long as that’s true I’m going to respect it, but all we have to do is tell Garcia we saw this guy kick a puppy and she’ll burn his credit so bad he won’t be able to afford groceries.”

Reid ponders that a moment, letting the scene play out in his mind. “I don’t want Garcia to know.”

Morgan is quick to assure, “I won’t tell anyone without your permission, Kid.”

This vow is soothing. He feels his limbs grow heavy and a fog thickens in his mind. “Morgan?”

“Yeah, Pretty Boy?”

“Can I go to sleep now?”

“Of course, let’s get you to bed,” Morgan starts to rise, but Reid’s fingers tighten in his shirt, holding him in place.

“Here? Can I sleep here? You don’t have to hold me long, but could you until I fall asleep? I just… I feel… I feel safe? I’ll be asleep soon, I promise.”

Morgan settles into the cushions, “You sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He rubs soft circles into Reid’s back, making him drowsier.

Reid barely gets out, “Thank you…” before he’s out.

Morgan can reach the remote and he changes the channel to a baseball game to keep his attention while he sits. Reid is a warm weight against him, his breaths shallow puffs against his shoulder. He’s seen Reid sleep plenty over the years, in shared hotel rooms and on the jet and a few times at his own desk, but this time is different. This time Reid is taking comfort in Morgan’s touch, and there’s something powerful in that. They’ve been close a while now, and they’ve spent time outside work and have even gotten into deep discussions about life, but they’ve reached something new here. There’s an intimacy that Morgan realizes he cherishes. It’s horrible what happened to this young, innocent man, but Morgan is so grateful he can be here to help him heal.

Reid is only asleep for a couple innings before he awakens with a gasp. His eyes land on Morgan and he wraps his arms around his protector’s neck, clutching for safety.

Morgan’s grip around him tightens, making sure he can feel the pressure, “I’ve got you, Reid. You’re safe.”

“I’m sorry! I… I just… I…”

“You don’t have to explain. It’s okay. Take a minute.”

He nods, face pressed into Morgan’s neck, his heavy breathing starting to calm. He slowly slides his arms from around Morgan, dropping them to his own lap as he pulls away. He sits on the middle cushion, facing his friend, his knees to his chest, “You stayed.”

“I promised I would.”

Reid chews on his lip, haunted eyes darting everywhere but at Morgan.

Morgan turns up the volume on the TV, “You like baseball? It’s a close game, top of the 6th.”

Reid turns just his head toward the television, watching intently even though he’s never willingly seen a game in his life. It’s a simple enough concept, the rules of the game, and he follows along until a winner is decided. Judging by Morgan’s reaction, the results are favorable. Then it’s off to the post-game commentary, the volume too low for them to hear.

“We were only dating four months.” Reid is still facing the TV when he says this, and he doesn’t know why he’s speaking but the words are coming out of him nonetheless. “We met at the coffee shop by my apartment. I go there sometimes on weekends. I like their oat milk lattes and sometimes I get a cookie. I like chocolate chip. I met him in line. I was reading Proust, a novel my mother used to read to me, and he tapped the cover to get my attention and asked me how the book was.”

Reid swallows, licks his lips, then continues, “I was excited that someone showed interest in what I was reading so I rambled, like I do, and he laughed, said I was cute. He asked what I was ordering and paid for both our drinks. He grabbed my cup and took it to a table and we talked. He thought I was funny. I hadn’t meant for what I said to be a joke but it didn’t matter because he liked me. He asked for my phone, put my number in his, and told me he’d text me. I was so excited.”

Reid’s eyes flash to Morgan’s face for just a moment, just to see that he’s listening, before averting again. “I ignored a lot of obvious signs, which is ridiculous knowing what we see everyday, but I just wanted to believe. I wanted what he promised to be real  _ so badly. _ He’d hurt me and I’d forgive him because maybe that was the last time. How many times have you heard that from some poor battered spouse? And there I fell into the same trap…”

It seems like Reid might be done for now, so Morgan feels free to talk, but just two words, “You survived.”

Reid’s brow furrows. The words land on his ears funny and he has to give them time to work their way in. He’s a survivor, a term used to describe victims who didn’t die. Of all the horrible things they’ve witnessed, it seems silly to categorize himself along with those who’ve been held captive for years, or who wear horrible scars for the rest of their lives. He just had a boyfriend who wasn’t very gentle. It’s not the same. You don’t get to say you climbed Everest if you didn’t make it past basecamp. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Morgan asks, concerned at the shadow darkening Reid’s features.

Ashamed, Reid hides his face in his hands. God, he’s been crying into Morgan’s shoulder like he could have died. They’ve both seen what Real Victims have gone through and for him to overreact to his own situation like this is humiliating. How can Morgan even look at him right now? 

“Reid? Kid, talk to me?” Morgan sounds so worried and Reid realizes he’s making this even worse somehow.

“I’m sorry!” He jumps from the couch, forgetting to be careful of his injury and a yelp flies from his lips as he rushes to the guest room. He doesn’t know what his plan is until he’s already turned on the shower. He gets in, clothing and all, and lets the hot water and steam surround him. There’s something terribly wrong with him. He let himself get hurt and then acted like it’s the end of the world. 

“Reid?” Morgan’s voice calls through the open doorway because in Reid’s haste he didn’t even think to close it. “Reid, Kid, I’m coming in.” 

Heavy footsteps approach but Reid isn’t scared. Morgan is safe.

“Can you talk to me?” He’s endlessly patient, trained to deal with people reacting just as Reid is, but he never imagined having to behave like this around a friend, around his best friend, the resident genius who has always seemed somehow above the regular cares of regular people. How wrong Morgan was all this time. “Please, Reid, just tell me you’re okay.”

Reid can’t. He isn’t okay. He is very far from okay. The shower sprays too hot and he’s just sitting in the tub letting it scald him. 

Morgan’s hand reaches through the curtain and shuts off the faucet. It’s suddenly quiet, the only sound a drip from the shower head. “Kid, I really need to hear your voice right now.”

Reid tries. He really tries. All that comes out is a sob.

“I’m gonna open the curtain now. I’m not going to touch you, okay?” Morgan waits a beat for a protest that doesn’t come, then slides the curtain aside to see Reid huddled in a little ball in his soaking wet pajamas. “Oh, Pretty Boy…”

“I’m sorry!” 

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m really messed up!”

“You’re just wet, Kid. A towel will fix that.”

Reid shakes his head. It’s going to take so much more than a towel to fix him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your responses have all been so wonderful! Thank you so much! I can't tell express how much it means to me.


	5. Intrusion

“All right, come on out of there,” Morgan encourages, holding a bath towel wide and welcoming. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

Reid’s legs shake as he rises in the tub. He holds himself up against the tiled wall, reaching out a hand for that towel. 

Morgan gives it to him, then steps back, “I’m gonna get you a change of clothes, Kid. I’ll be right back.”

Reid clutches the large towel to his chest. It’s useless drying off now, with his soaked pajamas still sticking to his skin. He needs to undress first, but that seems like so much right now, so he lets himself just cuddle the terrycloth for a while. It’s warm, smells of that same comforting detergent on Morgan’s shirt, like safety. He has the absurd thought that he doesn’t want to get the towel wet, doesn’t want to ruin it.

Morgan walks back in with a folded bundle of cotton, setting it on the counter. “Wasn’t sure where you put your clothes, so I just brought some of mine. The pants have a drawstring, so they should fit you. Call if you need me.” With that, Morgan disappears.

Reid is still standing there, dripping into the tub, smelling that towel. Morgan is being so patient with him, so understanding. Reid sets the towel down on the toilet lid to unbutton his shirt and shove off his wet clothes, leaving them crumpled in the tub without a second thought. He grabs that towel again, brings it to his face, then wraps its comfort around his shoulders. It covers most of him, down to his knees, and it’s much softer than any towel he’s ever felt. He pads into the bedroom to grab fresh underwear and socks, setting them beside Morgan’s sleepwear, not yet ready to transition from the towel.

He’s wearing the towel like a security blanket, like a child home sick from school, moping around with the sniffles and their favorite stuffed toy. It’s starting to get cold, drips from his hair sending chills down his spine. He runs the towel over his locks, wicking what moisture he can, then brings it to the shower and hangs it over the rod to dry. This is his towel now.

He’s naked and it’s becoming uncomfortable, and he tells himself that’s just because he’s cold. His underwear provides some sense of calm, but it’s nothing compared to pulling on Morgan’s clothing. The detergent’s aroma is stronger on these. They’re freshly washed, and while the drawstring cinches the pants to his waist, the shirt hangs loose on his slender frame, making it obvious these are  _ Morgan’s clothes, _ because he’s  _ with Morgan. _ He has another security blanket.

“There he is!” Morgan greets when Reid enters the kitchen. “You didn’t eat much breakfast, so I thought you might be hungry for lunch. I’m just heating that chilli, but there’s always delivery if chilli doesn’t sound good.”

“Chilli is fine, thank… Thank you so much, for everything.” With gratitude comes a slew of other emotions, all welling up in his eyes and it’s so frustrating because he just wants to get through  _ a moment _ without crying. He wipes the tears away a bit too harshly, his breath hitching. 

Morgan steps closer to him, not yet touching, “You want a hug?”

A hug sounds amazing. Reid doesn’t trust his voice with the lump forming in his throat, so he just nods, a pitiful little movement of his head. Morgan envelops him, his arms strong yet gentle, and Reid instantly calms. He presses his face in Morgan’s shoulder, pulling up his own arms to return the embrace. 

Morgan pulls back, cupping Reid’s upper arms and checking him over. The kid isn’t looking at him, staring at some point on his chest, and he’s clearly overwhelmed, but his tears are drying up and his breath is settling. “You’re welcome, Kid, but you don’t have to thank me.” He scoops chilli into two bowls and sets them on the table, dropping spoons beside them. He’s hungry, so he digs in.

Reid sits slowly, more mindful of his soreness, but he doesn’t touch his food. He stares down into the bowl, worrying his bottom lip.

“It’s better when it’s warm,” Morgan hints.

Reid looks up at him, his eyes meeting Morgan’s for just a second before lowering to his shirt, and he clears his throat. “I’m sorry I interrupted your weekend.”

Morgan lets out a long sigh. He wants to lecture his friend about not feeling like a burden because he has needs, but that’s not going to help. Reid would just hear the tone of disappointment. He goes for a different tact, “You know what I had planned for today?”

Reid shakes his head, shoulders drooping lower.

“I was gonna watch that baseball game. I was gonna eat this chilli. I’m also going to work out later, and you’re welcome to join me. Kid, you didn’t interrupt anything. Besides, I brought you here.”

“You’re going to the gym?” Reid hates how meek his voice sounds, but the idea of leaving the safety of this home, or being left alone here without his protector, it makes him feel small and weak.

Morgan watches the fear play out on Reid’s features and it pains him. Reid has always been so fiercely independent, but now he’s looking at Morgan with worried eyes like he  _ needs _ him. “I’ve got a home gym. It’s not as fancy as the one at the Bureau, but there’s some equipment I can teach you to use.” He watches relief wash over the kid. Spencer finally eats.

They wait an hour after their meal to work out, staring at some documentary on the TV that can’t even keep Reid’s attention, and then Morgan is demonstrating how to properly lift a free weight. “It’s about control. Slower is better.” His bicep bulges from the short sleeve of his T-shirt as he curls the 25 pound dumbbell. He hands Reid a ten pounder and those slender arms attempt to mimic the bend. “Not bad. Make sure you go slow.” He shows a few more arm workouts with the weights and decides that will be enough for Reid for today. He’s still walking gingerly and the seats on his machines are all unforgivingly hard. Morgan moves over to the treadmill and watches Reid strengthen himself.

Morgan goes out through a regular Saturday, happy to have company along for the mundanity. He sets Reid up in the comfy chair under the window with a small pile of books and keeps an eye on him while he dusts and vacuums the great room. Spencer joins for the kitchen chores, helping by removing items from the kitchen table before Morgan slides the furniture off the tile floor so he can mop. 

Reid leans against the wall past the threshold and watches Morgan work. “The patent for the clamping mop belongs to African American inventor Thomas W Steward, awarded June 11, 1893.” Reid doesn’t know why he blurts this out. It’s barely relevant, and probably even less interesting.

“Props to my man!” Morgan nods approvingly. “Growing up, my mom had that old yarn mop, and we’d have to towel the floor dry on our hands and knees and it would still be an hour before the floor would dry. Thomas knew what was up.”

Reid smiles to himself. Maybe that was pretty interesting.

Neither one of them got much sleep last night, so they retire early. Reid snuggles into the sheets and takes a deep breath. He has to ask Morgan which detergent he uses, unless the magic only works because it’s  _ Morgan’s _ clothing,  _ Morgan’s _ towels, and  _ Morgan’s _ bedding.

His eyes are growing heavy when he hears a noise outside, a light thud. He sits up, staring out the window. There’s a breeze, moving trees and bushes. The sound could be anything, from the tap of branches to a cat leaping on a fence, but his heart is pounding. He’s staring at that door, with the glass panel that looks out into the backyard, and his mind provides the image of James standing there. He blinks and it’s gone, but the fear isn’t. 

James isn’t here. He has to remind himself of this. James doesn’t know he’s here, and he’s never coming back. He made it perfectly clear that he no longer wanted Reid in his life. No one does  _ that _ to someone they want a future with.

Reid tells himself it’s nothing and closes his eyes, but they pop right back open, staring at that door. He knows it’s secure. Morgan wouldn’t leave a faulty lock in his home, wouldn’t let Reid stay here if it weren’t safe.

But what if that door opens up and James comes in and hurts him again? He’ll be defenseless.  _ James will hold him down and make him feel worthless and nothing will stop the pain. _

Reid is up on his feet and walking out of the room before he realizes it. Morgan’s bedroom door is open, the light is off and it’s silent inside. Reid taps his knuckles on the doorframe. 

Morgan’s groggy voice responds, “Reid?”

“Morgan, I…” Why is he here? What is he asking for? Is he about to confess, as a grown man, that there’s a monster in his room and he can’t sleep? 

“What do you need, Kid?” Morgan asks patiently, kindly, not at all annoyed at being woken up. 

Reid feels annoyed enough at himself for the both of them, “I’m sorry.” He turns, pads back down the hall.

“Pretty Boy, wait!” Morgan follows, standing in his doorway. “If you need something, just ask.”

Reid faces him, tears in his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time today, and tries to voice his concerns. All that comes out is a whispered, “I’m scared.”

Morgan nods in understanding. He stays quiet, leaving room for Reid to continue.

Reid takes another breath and tries again, “It was so generous of you to let me stay in your guest room. I’m really grateful. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come by last night. I just… I know he’s not coming but I stare at that door and I see him there and I can’t shake this irrational fear… Can I stay with you?” As soon as the request is out of his mouth, he regrets it, shaking his head violently at his own transgression, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I didn’t mean-”

“Of course you can,” Morgan says easily, like it’s not the biggest favor Reid has ever asked of him. “Come on, you get the side by the clock.”

“Thank you,” Reid breathes, because it feels like with this one act all tonight’s problems might be solved. He follows Morgan to the Queen size bed, sliding beneath the covers. He instantly feels safe. There’s no door to the outside here, just a window next to Morgan’s side, and Morgan is there to protect him. 

“Good night, Pretty Boy.” Morgan whispers into the darkness.

Reid clings to the edge of the bed. He doesn’t want to be an intrusion, doesn’t want to take up any more room than offered. This may be his only chance to feel this safe again, and he’s not going to ruin it. “Good night, Morgan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blown away by the support this story is getting! Thank you so much! It really helps the words flow.


	6. Alone

Reid wakes up to a dark figure standing over him. It’s James. He’s returned to hurt him again. Reid tries to escape but James is holding him down. He can’t move. He’s helpless. He tries to scream but his voice won’t work. All he can do is cry, tears pouring down his cheeks as his breath hitches in misery. He’s going to be hurt again and no one is going to help stop it. Hands cover his mouth, rip off his clothing, touch him with loathing that leaks into his own self-image. He doesn’t want this. He just wants to feel loved...

“Pretty Boy, you’re okay.”

Instantly, Reid feels safer. He breathes in the protective aroma and feels strong arms gently encircle him. He’s cuddled against the chest of a friend and everything is calm and warm. A thumb wipes away his tears, so caring, and he presses his cheek into the palm.

“You’re safe.”

Reid believes it. If Morgan says it, it’s true, and if Morgan is here, he’s safe. He can still feel James on the periphery, waiting in the dark corner, and he clings tightly to his protector, “Help me.”

“I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

It’s true, Morgan never does. Morgan would die before letting someone hurt someone he cares about. James is gone, obliterated from the room. Morgan is here, so everything is okay. He’s falling asleep, but that’s okay because Morgan will keep him safe.

Morning shines brightly through the window in Morgan’s bedroom. It awakens Reid to discover he is alone in bed. It’s strange how much that disappoints him, considering how rarely he’s shared a bed in his life, but he’s in Morgan’s bed so that should come with a Morgan. It smells like Morgan, though, and that’s enough to keep him snuggled into the covers.

He can hear sounds from the kitchen, a spatula scraping and a skillet sizzling, so Morgan isn’t far. Reid can safely doze just a little bit longer…

“You gonna sleep all day?” Morgan laughs, pulling Reid back to consciousness. Reid sits up, blushing, and sees that Morgan is carrying two plates. He sets one on Reid’s lap before sitting beside him on the comforter. “Thought we’d do breakfast in bed today.” 

Reid smiles shyly at that, breakfast in bed with Derek Morgan. They dine on vegetable omelets that waft aromas of peppers, onions, spinach, and mushrooms. Reid eats every bite. Morgan takes their dishes and sets them on the nightstand, turning his body to look at Reid, “Kid, I think we should make a game plan.”

“A game plan?” This feels like a sports metaphor…

“Yeah, figure out how to move forward. Where you want to stay, if you want to bring more of your stuff over here, if you want to go back. I’d like to get your locks changed. I know you said he doesn’t have access to your apartment, but we both know it’s better to be safe than sorry. You also might want to think about getting an alarm installed.”

Reid’s face pulls into a frown and he turns away so Morgan doesn’t see it. He’s so grateful for the time Morgan let him stay here, but of course it has to come to an end. He can’t hide here forever; he’s an adult, and he has to handle his adult problems in adult ways. That means going home. Even though that bedroom will always be where _It_ happened…

“Kid? Did I lose you?”

“Sorry,” Reid tosses on a mask of thoughtfulness, “I was just thinking. You’re right, I’ll call a locksmith tomorrow.” Morgan looks at him with an incredulous expression, and Reid can’t for the life of him figure out why, so he just squints back.

Morgan points around him, “Reid, I basically built this whole house. I can change your locks.”

“Oh. Thank you, that’s very nice of you.” This means Morgan will be going home with Reid, and that makes Reid feel so much safer. Like when they enter a building with an assumed killer roaming, Morgan will take point and help make sure everything is clear before Reid is alone there once again.

Morgan gets out of bed, grabbing the plates and heading out, “We can go whenever you’re ready, Pretty Boy.”

Reid doesn’t know that he’s ever going to be ready to leave here, so he just starts packing now. Best to get it over with, rip off that bandage. He changes into his last clean outfit and folds what little clothing he brought into his bag. He’s missing his pajamas. He’s been wearing Morgan’s shirt and drawstring pants but he brought pajamas with him, he just doesn’t remember where- Oh, right, he showered in them. Reid cringes at the memory. He left them sodden in the tub but they aren’t there now. Packing up his toiletries, Reid walks out to the main room where Morgan is putting on his shoes, “Do you know where my pajamas are?”

“Oh, they’re in the wash. I forgot, I put them in before I made breakfast. We can stick around here until they’re dry.”

The longer Reid waits, the more difficult it will be to leave. “That’s okay, I can just get them from you later.”

“I’ll bring them in to work Monday.”

Reid is surprised at the offer. “It will be interesting explaining _ that  _ to the team.”

“I’ll just tell them we had a sleepover, played Truth Or Dare and braided each others’ hair.” Morgan smoothes his hand over his bare head and smiles at his joke. He picks up a cardboard box and the metal inside clinks, “I grabbed a couple deadbolts, since I can’t remember the color of your door handle and I’m sure the building would prefer they match.”

Reid pulls up his rental agreement in his head and flips through the mental pages, “The resident manager requires a copy of the key, as well.”

“Each one of these comes with four keys, so we’re good. You ready?”

“I have everything.” Reid isn’t going to lie and say he’s ready to leave; he wishes he could stay, but they’re leaving anyway. 

Morgan parks on the street and Reid follows him up to his floor. Sure enough, he takes Reid’s key and heads in first, moving swiftly as he checks each room like Reid is in protective custody. Reid watches with a soft smile, so grateful for the care. Morgan comes back to him and nods confidently, “Looks good. Now let me show you how to swap out a deadbolt; it’s a lot easier than it looks.” 

He pulls out a screwdriver and gets to work, explaining as he goes. “You see this screw? This is the standard screw that comes with the hardware. You’ve seen me break in a door with one kick? That’s because it has this screw.” He pulls a much longer screw from his box of tools, “Now see this? This goes much deeper into the wall and makes it a lot harder to break in. I’m going to install this one.” With a drill, he seats the new, far more secure deadbolt, and gives it a test lock from the inside. It slides perfectly in place. “That’s all there is to it.”

Reid already feels more relaxed, “Thank you, Morgan.”

“No problem. Here are your keys. Make sure you keep your door locked, and check the peephole before opening it up,” Morgan advises on auto-pilot. He’s used to doing this for people without law enforcement backgrounds, but it’s also how he’s going to keep Reid safe, so he leaves nothing out. “Give that security system some serious thought. I can recommend a few. Don’t leave any windows open while you’re out. I know you’re on the top floor, but there’s just no reason to take the chance. Keep your phone on you at all times and call me if you need anything. Anything, Kid.”

Reid nods, patting his pocket to check that the device is there.

“Are you gonna be good? You can come back to my place any time. Even right now, if you want. You don’t have to stay here.”

It’s tempting, so tempting, but Reid can’t spend the rest of his life hiding in Morgan’s guest room. He’s home. This is his home. “Thank you, I’ll definitely call you if anything happens. It won’t, though, so don’t worry.”

Morgan gives him an appraising look. Assurance or not, he’s going to worry, because he cares. He drops a hand to Reid’s shoulder and gently squeezes. Reid steps forward, turning the touch into a hug.

Face pressed into Morgan’s shoulder, Reid’s voice is muffled. “Thank you again for everything.” He’s thanked him so many times the words might be losing their meaning, but he means it every time. He can’t imagine what this weekend would have been like were he alone. Alone waiting in an empty apartment for his abuser to return… No, he isn’t coming back. James is never coming back.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow. Seriously, though, call me for anything.”

Reid nods, and then he’s alone. He twists his new lock into place, still protected by Morgan in a way, but it isn’t the same. He stands there, hugging himself in the silence of his apartment, and he doesn’t know what to do next. He’s been able to follow Morgan’s lead until now and it’s like he’s lost the ability to make his own decisions. He doesn’t want to make a move in the wrong direction, afraid he’ll get himself hurt again, but he has to snap out of that. He’s an FBI agent, and tomorrow he’s going to go to work and catch a serial killer, so he needs to focus.

There are a handful of books on the ground, a few more toppled on the shelf from when Reid was shoved into the bookcase. It seems so long ago, Friday night. He picks up the books and reshelves them, sliding his fingers over their spines in silent apology. His desk is a mess of torn academic papers. It’s where the anger began that night, where he was screamed at and shown just how defenseless he truly is. Reid picks up the shreds and drops them into the bin; he can just write them again.

He should tidy his bedroom next. His sheets have long since dried and he needs to find the clothing that was ripped from his body and thrown around the room… He can’t be here. He needs to get out. He still has all four keys on a single ring and he throws his door closed and locks away the memories of what happened inside. He wants to call Morgan, to ask him to turn around and come back for him, but he can’t keep bothering him, can’t keep taking advantage of his generosity. 

The resident manager needs a key. He can do that. She lives downstairs and he already has the keys with him, he just needs to hand her one, and then that will be sorted. His knock echoes loudly down the hall, startling him, but then Mrs. Bradley’s sweet face is smiling up at him, “Hello, Dear, how can I help you?”

He forgets for half a second why he’s here and he has to shake his thoughts back in order. He twists off a key and hands it to her, “I had my locks changed. Here is your copy.”

“Oh,” she replies with the barest hint of surprise, and suddenly Reid feels the need to explain.

He doesn’t know why he lies, it just comes out, “The key was getting stuck.”

“That’s fine. Thank you for this. Is that all you needed?” She spends her days fielding service requests for all manners of malfunctions, from leaking toilets to broken furnaces.

She’s so kind, essentially the grandmother of the entire building. She even baked him cookies once, when he was healing from a gunshot to the knee and she saw how difficult it was for him to climb the stairs on crutches. She called him sweetheart when she delivered those cookies, patted his cheek and insisted on carrying the plateful to his kitchen for him. He could sure use a batch of those today. “That was it, Mrs. Bradley. Have a good day.”

The library has been Reid’s sanctuary since he was a child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school, and he happens to live blocks from the largest branch in the area, so his body takes him there before his mind realizes where he’s going. The muffled voices and smell of old paper is just what he needs right now, or at least, it’s enough. He disappears into the tall and endless stacks, finding himself a secluded corner to hole up in. Nearby books offer insights into the ancient world and he loses himself in Mesopotamia for a while.

He pulls out his phone, feels the weight of it in his hand. He thinks again about calling Morgan, about returning to his house. Just one more night where he’s protected. He shoves his phone away. He needs to face this, not hide from it. It’s just a bed. There’s no monster under it. He needs to go home and move forward. He’s going to take back his life.

Mrs. Bradley makes herself a cup of tea before sitting down to her favorite show. There’s a knock at her door and she’s far too used to such interruptions to be annoyed. It’s nice to be needed. She opens the door to a familiar young man.

“Hello, Mrs. Bradley, I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Spencer’s boyfriend, in apartment 23. He forgot his phone and sent me to get it, but I think he gave me the wrong key.” He holds a single key up in front of him with an apologetic frown. “Do you think you could let me in? I’ll only need a minute.”

She would normally call the resident in this situation, but if Spencer forgot his phone that won’t do her much good. Besides, she’s seen this man with Spencer numerous times, and it will only be a minute. “Sure, Dear, let me get the key.” She turns back, hides the keypad as she types in the code, and draws out the brand new key. “He only just changed the locks today. He must have forgotten. He’s so busy.”

They walk together up the stairs to #23 and she unlocks the door. Pushing it open, she waits here since she’s not technically allowed to enter without providing notice. 

“Just a second, promise!” he calls as he runs into the bedroom. He rummages around, making a good deal of noise in the search for that phone, but then he gives a triumphant shout, “Got it!” He emerges, smiling gratefully, “I’ve got it, thank you. You have no idea how relieved he’ll be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have given me so much to look forward to when updating this story. Thank you! You're wonderful and amazing.


	7. Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EXTRA TRIGGER WARNING: SUFFOCATION. This chapter gets dark.

Reid stays at the library until it closes, exploring half the ancient world through artifacts and translations. He knows he should eat, but he doesn’t feel hungry, so he doesn’t push himself. As he enters his building, he sends off a quick text to Morgan to let him know he’s okay, on the off chance he’s thinking about him.

_ Spencer Reid → Derek Morgan _ _   
_ _ Thank you again for this weekend. I’ll see you tomorrow. _

He pulls out the new keys and twists open the reinforced lock, sliding it back into place once he’s inside, keeping himself safe. It’s time to face his bedroom. He can’t avoid it any longer. He could sleep on the couch tonight, sure, but the bedroom will just be that much scarier tomorrow. He’s going to collect the laundry and then make the bed. Easy enough.

He steps into his bedroom and the first thing he notices is the billowing curtain. The curtain shouldn’t billow because the window shouldn’t be open. It was one of the instructions Morgan left him. Then he notices that the bed is made, the sheets taken from the dryer and stretched over the mattress, the blanket picked up from the floor and tucked in. He’s processing everything too slowly, not realizing the implication quickly enough. Someone is here.

“Honey,” a voice calls from right behind him, “I’m home.”

Reid freezes. It’s James. James is here, really here, and Reid is alone with him. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He can hear James step closer behind him but all he can get out is a pitiful, “Please…”

He’s suddenly surrounded, his arms gripped tightly to his sides so he can’t fight, a hand covering his nose and mouth. He’s being suffocated. His body twists, trying to break free, but James is far too strong for him. His scream is muffled by a painful palm and then Reid has no air left to shout for help. His lungs scream, dots fill his vision, his body keeps fighting James’ hold long after his brain realizes he’s already lost. Everything is going dark. His last thought is how much he doesn’t want to die.

Morgan spends his Sunday worried about Reid. He changed the lock and got him a more secure door, and that’s comforting, but he wishes the kid wanted to stick around a bit longer, at least until he got up the nerve to report James to the police. It isn’t Morgan’s call, though. He couldn’t force Reid to stay in his home any more than he could force him to go to the hospital or get charges brought up on his attacker. It has to be Reid’s choice. Morgan understands better than most how important it is to feel in control of your own life after so much control has been taken from you.

Three times Morgan has grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over Reid’s number just twitching with the need to press it. He resists the urge. If Reid wanted to go home, he needs space, and if he needs space, Morgan has to give it to him. It’s hard caring about someone this much and not being able to protect them.

Finally, just after dinner, Morgan’s phone chimes.

_ Spencer Reid → Derek Morgan _ _   
_ _ Thank you again for this weekend. I’ll see you tomorrow. _

Morgan lets out a long sigh, feeling the relief down to his marrow. Reid is fine. They’re going to see each other tomorrow, and Reid is clearly doing well enough to reach out. Morgan didn’t want to let himself consider that Reid might push him away, but that’s okay, because he isn’t. 

_ Derek Morgan → Spencer Reid _ _   
_ _ It was great having you here, Pretty Boy. You’re welcome any time. _

Morgan can rest easy tonight.

Reid wakes up face-down on the mattress. His breath comes in heavy, scared, and he can’t see. There’s something wrapped around his eyes, blinding him. His hands are cuffed behind his back, the metal rings biting into his wrists. Something rigid is wrapped around his neck, just loose enough for him to breathe. He’s been undressed of everything but his underwear and he’s shaking from cold and fear.

“Who’s Derek Morgan?” James’ voice asks and Reid jolts at the sound. He’s in the room with him. James is here and Reid can’t see, can’t defend himself. “I asked you a question. Who is Derek Morgan?”

“We work together,” Reid answers, his voice meek and terrified. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“So you spent the weekend with him?”

“He’s coming back,” Reid tries. “He knows what you did and he’s coming back.”

“You said you’d see him tomorrow. I’m reading your texts, Spencer. For an FBI agent you’re very bad at this.”

Tears soak into his blindfold, “Why are you doing this?”

“You were bad, Spencer. You need to be punished.”

“I wasn’t bad,” Reid sobs out, “I wasn’t bad.”

“Shhhh…” James strokes his hand along the back of Reid’s thigh and instinct has Reid kick out at him.

Reid’s ankles are caught in firm grips and he’s pulled down the bed. He can’t breathe. Whatever is around his neck has been pulled taut, crushing his airway. He flails, trying to release its hold, but nothing brings air. He’s choking, sputtering and twitching. Blood can’t get to his brain and he’s in a panic. He’s dying.

He’s shoved back up the bed and the pressure lessens on his throat. He takes in great heaving breaths, trying to fill desperate lungs. He’s dizzy, lightheaded. He can’t go through that again. 

“When you’re bad, you’re punished. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Reid rasps out, coughing at how much it hurts his throat.

“You’re not going to fight me,” James returns his hand to the back of Reid’s thigh, testing him. Reid doesn’t even flinch, just lets himself be touched. “Say it. You are not going to fight me.”

“I won’t fight you.” If there’s a chance he can survive this, Reid will take it. Even if it means letting something awful happen to him. He just wants to live. He’ll do anything to live.

“You’ll be good.”

“I’ll be good.”

James grips the hem of Reid’s boxers, dragging them down his bare legs, “You deserve this.”

“I… I deserve this.”

A heavy weight lands on Reid’s legs as James climbs atop him, and Reid gasps. “Please don’t do this. I won’t tell, just let me go.”

“That’s it. Cry for me.” 

Reid sobs. He hears a zipper, feels the weight on top of him shift, knows what is about to happen. No one is coming to save him.

Morgan gets into work half an hour earlier than usual, anxious to check in on Reid before they’re whisked away on a case. He sees Hotch up in his office already hard at work, fulfilling the half-joking rumor that he actually lives at his desk. JJ is perched on Prentiss’ desk, regaling her friend with tales of her toddler’s newest skill. Reid is nowhere to be seen. Morgan is disappointed, but it’s still early, and the kid had a tough weekend and deserves to take it slow.

He steps into his office long enough to drop his coat and go-bag off, then returns to the bullpen to wait. He leans against the coffee counter, steaming mug in hand. The elevator dings and he perks up, but it’s Rossi who saunters in. A few minutes later, he’s tricked again by the arrival of Anderson and Lopez.

The clock strikes 9:00, making Reid officially late, and now Morgan allows himself to worry. He climbs up to Hotch’s office, rapping a knuckle on the door to draw his boss’ attention from his reports. “Hey, Hotch, have you heard from Reid?” 

Hotch frowns, “No, I haven’t. Why?”

“I have a bad feeling. He doesn’t live far from here; I’m just gonna go check on him. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Hotch picks up on Morgan’s concern, matching it. “All right. Keep me apprised?” 

Morgan nods dutifully before rushing for the elevator. He catches the doors before they close and goes straight for the parking garage. He’s at a full run to get to his car, and then he’s speeding out of Quantico. 

It’s entirely possible he’s overreacting, that Reid stepped into the bullpen as soon as Morgan left and he’s drawn attention to his tardiness for no reason. His cell could ring any second with Hotch telling him to calm down and get back, Reid is fine. It’s possible, but he can’t count on it.

Morgan double-parks at the entrance, leaving his hazards flashing as he takes the stairs three at a time. He raises his fist to knock, remembering when he was last in this position, what horrors Reid had been subjected to the last time he came running. He bangs against the wood, pressing his ear close to hear for a response. He’s met with only silence. 

He’s come this far on a potential overreaction, he might as well commit. He draws his weapon, holding it ready at his side. “Sorry, Pretty Boy. I’ll fix your door,” he vows, then throws his weight behind a solid kick. The door bows, but doesn’t break open, sending a shock of pain up to his knee. He’s being blocked by his own handiwork, but he won’t be deterred. He lifts his leg again and kicks even harder. The door cracks near the handle. He takes a deep breath, and kicks a third time. The door flies open. “Reid!”

Morgan levels his gun, keeping his back to the walls as he checks the apartment. The entryway is clear. He shouts Reid’s name again but gets no answer. The kitchen is next so no one can surprise him from behind, and it’s empty. He rounds the large window, checking behind furniture. The bedroom door is open. He presses his shoulder into the doorframe, listening. Silence. He throws himself through the doorway, gun raised.

The scene steals his breath. He’s found Reid, naked and bloody. His wrists are bound and there’s something around his neck. Morgan can’t tell if he’s breathing. His body rushes into action while his mind is still reeling. His gun is holstered, replaced with a cell phone already dialing 9-1-1. As soon as there’s an answer he shouts, “This is SSA Derek Morgan with the FBI. I need immediate medical to 937 Hoover Street, apartment twenty-three.” 

He’s reached Reid now, can see what’s around his neck is a dog collar, connected to the headboard by a leash. Morgan pinches the buckle open with two fingers, tossing it aside to find a pulse. There’s a gentle thump beneath his finger and Morgan’s breath hitches in relief. “I have an agent down, unconscious with signs of internal bleeding.” He doesn’t focus any more than that on the blood between Reid’s legs. The doctors can worry about that. He just has to keep Reid alive until help arrives.

The operator lets him know an ambulance has been dispatched, and Morgan drops the phone to the mattress to set his complete focus on Reid. He pushes a makeshift blindfold from Reid’s face, “Pretty Boy? Can you open those eyes for me?” Reid’s breaths are shallow, and they wheeze in the back of his throat. Morgan has to move him. He’s suffocating into the mattress. 

Hands under a bare hip and shoulder, Morgan rolls Reid onto his side, then hoists him into his arms. Clutching him close, he feels Reid’s lungs expand, sucking in their first real breath in who knows how long. A few more gasping breaths and Reid moans, starting to come to.

“You’re okay, Reid. I’ve got you.”

He whimpers. “Please,” his voice is a hoarse whisper, screamed and strangled into almost nothing. “Don’t kill me.”

The plea breaks Morgan’s heart. How many times did he beg his attacker for his life? “Reid, it’s me, Morgan. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Reid’s head lolls against Morgan’s chest, face against his neck. His wrecked little voice sounds like he’s falling asleep, “Morgan?”

“Yeah,” Morgan holds him tight, “You’re gonna be okay. I promise, you’re gonna be okay.”


	8. Help

“Morgan?” Reid’s voice is a rasping whimper against Morgan’s chest. “He’s going to kill me. Please help me.”

“I’ve got you, Kid. I’m not gonna let him hurt you.” He’s made this promise before and it was a lie. It won’t be this time. He can’t make this mistake again.

“It hurts…”

“I know, Pretty Boy,” tears thicken Morgan’s voice and leak down his cheeks. “You hear those sirens? They’re almost here. They’re coming to help you.”

Reid is naked, exposed and vulnerable, and suddenly it’s very important to Morgan that he covers him up before help arrives. Whatever he chooses will get bloody, like his shirt is now, and removed by the time he’s in the hospital, but Morgan has to protect him. He can’t take off his own clothing; that would require letting go of Reid and that’s out of the question. There’s a blanket on the bed, but it’s evidence now, stained from the attack. 

There’s a shirt crumpled in the corner of the room, beside the nightstand, and it’s within reach. Morgan grabs it and drapes it over Reid, covering him from stomach to thigh. The thing is ripped and immediately sticks to the blood on his legs, and Morgan pulls Reid closer, cradling the back of his head.

There’s a knock on the open front door, the announcement of, “Police!”

“In here!” Morgan shouts in response, and Reid flinches against him. “Shh, sorry. It’s okay.”

Two officers file into the bedroom, surveying, and behind them comes a paramedic. “We have a stretcher on its way up. How is he?”

“Responsive and actively bleeding from a sexual assault.” This rips another flinch and whimper from Reid, but the details need to be explained. “He was strangled with that collar on the bed when I arrived.”

“For how long?” The paramedic kneels before him, scanning the visible portions of Reid’s body for injuries, noting vitals by the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“I don’t know.” The realization is horrifying. Did the attack start this morning? Last night? He last heard from Reid over twelve hours ago. Could he have survived an assault that went on that long?

The stretcher rolls in, another paramedic guiding it through the bedroom door. The one who’s crouched says in a soothing voice, “We can take him from here.”

Morgan shakes his head, pulling Reid in closer, “No, I’ve got him.”

“It’s okay. We’re going to take good care of him.”

Morgan doesn’t want to let him go, but he needs to. Reid needs more help than he can give him. He extends his cradling arms until the paramedic lifts Reid away. He’s strapped in, that garment kept blessedly in place, and they wheel him out. Reid’s eyes are wide and fearful, locked on Morgan, and Morgan rises to follow.

“Sir,” an officer approaches, “do you know who attacked him?”

“His name is James, he’s his ex-boyfriend.” Morgan can see Reid get further away. “I- I need to go with him, please.”

“I understand,” the officer steps back, clearing the path. “We’ll send someone to the hospital to interview you both. One last question before you go: what’s the victim’s name?”

That word, victim, it’s sharp and painful as it enters. “His name is Reid. R-E-I-D. Doctor Spencer Reid with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. I need you to call Aaron Hotchner at the FBI, he heads up the BAU. His number is on this card. Give him these,” he adds his car keys to the stack in the officer’s hand. “My truck is parked downstairs but he’ll move it. I’m riding in with Reid.” He jogs to catch up, passing through the busted front door. 

Morgan’s phone is in his hand before he realizes, already dialing Hotch. He answers on the first ring, and Morgan unloads on him, “Hotch, man, you’ve got to get to Reid’s apartment. He was attacked. You have to secure the scene, ensure evidence is collected-”

“Morgan,” Hotch interrupts in his sternest voice, “is Reid alive?”

“Yes! Yes, he’s being taken to the ambulance now. I’m going with him.” He’s following down the stairs, watching the two paramedics carry the stretcher, keeping an eye on Reid as he winces with every jagged movement.

“Which hospital?”

Morgan doesn’t know so he repeats the question, and around the strain of holding up the stretcher a paramedic huffs out, “Sentara!”

They make it to the ground floor, wheels sliding over tile. The ambulance is a few feet in front of Morgan’s truck, both lights flashing. He pauses, letting distance grow between him and Reid so the kid can’t overhear what he says next, “Hotch, he…” The words are harder to form than he thought. “He was raped, Hotch.”

There’s no response from Hotch’s side; the man is too stoic to gasp.

“Have Garcia look into an ex-boyfriend named James. I don’t know anything more… except, he’s done this before.”

“Understood.”

Morgan wonders how Hotch can understand, when he can’t and it’s all right in front of him. How could someone hurt Reid? How could someone gain that purest love, from someone so kind and special, and turn around and do this to him? How could they do something so heinous to him when all they had to do was love him back? No one deserves to be loved more than his Pretty Boy.

“Morgan?” Reid cries out with his battered little voice, gripping Morgan’s heart.

“Hotch, I gotta go.” He hangs up on his boss, racing over to where Reid is being loaded into the ambulance, putting himself in the kid’s line of sight. “I’m right here, Reid. I’m gonna stay with you.” He can’t get close yet, can’t get in the way as the paramedics secure the stretcher in the back of the vehicle, but Reid can see him, and that visibly calms him.

A paramedic hops out, running around to the driver’s seat, making room for Morgan to climb in. Reid reaches out a hand and Morgan grasps it in both of his. “I know this is scary, Reid, but everyone is going to take care of you.”

“My name is Sam,” the medic greets, holding a blood pressure cuff. “I’m going to put this on your arm here, okay?” Reid nods, not looking away from Morgan. Sam works, getting Reid’s vitals, on the speedy trip to Sentara. 

Morgan takes it on himself to keep Reid distracted. “Kid, when this is over, I’m gonna make you something better than chilli, all right? I can roast a chicken like nobody’s business. Or lasagna, I make great lasagna. Whatever you want. For you, I’ll learn a recipe.” This earns him a weak smile, and that’s not nothing, so he continues, “And I know that Doctor Who show you like is coming back, so I’ll get cable and you can watch it live. You won’t have to wait for Garcia to bootleg it for you, since I know that’s what you do.” Another smile lightens Reid’s features, plus the barest outline of a laugh.

The ambulance parks with a jolt and the back doors fly open to emergency personnel. Reid is whisked off and Morgan has to rush to keep up.

For Reid, everything is blurry and bright, and his eyes dart around as he tries to find Morgan again.  _ He was just here… _

“Sir?” Someone is trying to get his attention, but it isn’t Morgan. “Can you tell me your name?”

“It’s Doctor Reid.” Morgan’s voice answers, and he’s close. Reid can breathe easier because Morgan is close.

“Doctor Reid, I’m Doctor Bijan. Can you look at me?”

Doctor. Reid is in a hospital and this is his doctor. He needs to communicate with her. He looks toward the sound of her voice and focuses, and she comes into view.

“That’s good, thank you,” she praises with a smile.

“No narcotics,” his thrashed voice barely gets out his desperate plea above the ruckus of the hospital, but she hears it.

“No narcotics, understood.” She delivers this as an oath.

He’s wheeled into an examination room with a flurry of nurses preparing equipment.

Dr. Bijan leans over him, her face friendly, “Dr. Reid, do you know what a SAFE kit is?”

Reid nods sluggishly, feeling unconsciousness creep in, “Do it while I’m out? Please?”

“I will.”

Reid sighs. He’s safe, Morgan is near, his doctor is caring for him. He can let go. Everything hurts except the darkness, so he lets it take him.

Morgan hovers in the corner of the exam room, not letting Reid out of his sight, but then there’s a hand on his chest, a nurse trying to move him, and he barks out, “I’m not leaving him.” This gets the attention of the doctor, so Morgan pulls rank, “I’m with the FBI, that right there is my partner, and the man that hurt him is still out there, so I’m not going anywhere.”

Dr. Bijan’s glare informs him she holds all the authority here, “I’m about to begin an invasive procedure and my patient deserves privacy. Please wait out in the hall, and you can return if that is what my patient wishes.”

The terms are acceptable, so with one final glance at Reid’s unconscious form, he steps through the door. It’s shut behind him.

Morgan doesn’t know what to do. He’s standing guard against an assailant he’s never seen. He couldn’t pick him out of a crowd, wouldn’t know it if he walked right up in scrubs and pushed his way past him. How can he keep Reid safe if he doesn’t know who he’s protecting him from? He’s been protecting people for years, doing just this, but it’s different this time. This time, it’s Reid.

He needs to stay strong, needs to hold it together for Reid, but his knees are giving out and he’s sliding down the wall in this busy hallway and when he looks down he sees blood in his lap. Reid’s blood. So much blood. His hands ghost over his head and his breath is lost somewhere in his chest and his vision goes blurry as he loses it.

He’s supposed to protect Reid. That’s his  _ job. _

He failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so incredibly supportive! You're wonderful.


	9. Care

Nurses and orderlies dash back and forth in pastel scrubs but Morgan barely sees them. His head is in his hands and he’s dropped low against the wall. A nurse bursts out of Reid’’s room and Morgan wants to ask for an update but she’s running, halfway down the hall in a blink. She returns a moment later with something in her hands. It’s heavy, metal, dangerous, and she’s heading straight for Reid. Morgan follows her in demanding, “What are you doing?”

Dr. Bijan is in his face, pushing him back and he stumbles through the doorway, “We’re removing his restraints. Please remain outside.”

Morgan falls back against the wall, sliding to the floor. The door shuts with a soft click that echoes loudly around Morgan’s brain. Reid is in that room, hurting and afraid, and Morgan is just sitting here, not helping at all. But he can’t leave. He can’t move any further from his charge until he knows he’s safe. 

His phone rings and he doesn’t even check who’s calling before answering, “This is Morgan.”

“Tell me you’re with him,” comes a familiar and desperate voice.

“Garcia?”

“Morgan, tell me you’re with him!” She knows. She has to.

“I’m with him, Baby Girl.”

She makes a miserable sound, a quiet wail, “Hotch asked me to look into Reid’s past for a James and I didn’t understand why but then a police report came in and his name is in the wrong spot. Your names aren’t supposed to be on that line, Morgan. Your names go with the responding officers, not the…” She can’t say victim, not about Reid. “Tell me he’s gonna be okay.”

Morgan needs to hear the words just as much as she does, but they come out wrong, forced, “He’s gonna be okay.”

“Are you just saying that because I asked you to, or because you really believe it?”

He swallows, clears his throat, and tries again, “Reid’s strong, and he’s getting the help he needs. He’s gonna be okay.” Morgan is going to be there the whole time to make sure of it.

“Okay,” she sighs, trusting his word. “Okay. What can I do? How can I help?”

Morgan rubs a shaky hand over his head, “Just find James, Baby Girl.”

“Uh huh. Uh huh, I’m doing that. I’m on it!” The line goes silent and Morgan assumes she’s hung up, but then he hears her sad sniffle. “Can you give him a hug for me? When you see him?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’m going to find James now.” There’s a click and Morgan is left alone in that hospital hallway again. Rubber-soled shoes rush back and forth, doors swing open and click shut, voices call over the loudspeakers, but Morgan doesn’t move. 

A pair of shoes stops in front of him, but they aren’t the footwear of medical professionals; they’re black dress shoes half-hidden under black slacks. It takes effort for Morgan’s eyes to travel up the body and meet Hotch’s face. Morgan’s misery must be obvious because Hotch’s expression softens from his typical stern mask, “How are you doing?”

Morgan shakes his head, “I haven’t heard anything yet. I don’t know how he is.” It isn’t an answer to Hotch’s question, but Morgan isn’t thinking clearly right now. He’s in a wide and brightly lit hall but he can feel the walls closing in, “Hotch, I could have stopped this. I let him go home, I let him get hurt again.” The shame leaks out and he’s crying again.

There are no chairs, so Hotch leans his back against the wall next to Morgan and slides down to the floor. His voice is kind and steady, “Morgan, I need to hear this from the beginning.”

“Have you searched his apartment? Maybe there’s evidence-”

“I have Rossi and Prentiss at the scene. I’m here to talk to you. Start from the beginning.”

Morgan’s phone is still in his hand, warm from being clung to, and he pulls up his voicemail, “His phone called mine. Left a message. Here.” He hands it over, lets Hotch deal with it. 

Hotch presses a button and holds the phone to his ear.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Morgan remembers straining to hear in the silence of his car.

“I can hear it,” Hotch assures. His face isn’t one to show emotion, but Morgan can see his brow furrow, his jaw tighten, his eyes fill with sadness. The message ends and he pulls the phone from his ear, “When was this?”

“Friday night. I rushed over to his apartment, but it was hours later. Reid, he’d showered, washed his bedding. He didn’t want anyone to know… I took him home, let him crash in my guest room for a weekend. I should have called the cops. I should have asked more questions. I should have told you.  _ I’m sorry…” _

“We’re working on it now. There is no changing the past, but we can still help him.” He’s pressing more buttons on Morgan’s phone, sending the voicemail with it’s electronic envelope to himself. His thumb hovers over other contacts, the rest of the team, but he doesn’t add them. This isn’t something they should hear without thorough preparation. 

Morgan’s voice drops to a horrified whisper, “Hotch, he’s still out there.”

“We’ll find him. We’ve been given approval to investigate.”

“It’s a BAU case?”

“It is now. We’re all working on it.”

Morgan imagines getting up, following Hotch to his SUV and joining the team on this case, but he can’t. It hurts to even think. “I can’t leave him.”

“No, I agree, he shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Morgan shakes his head, “You don’t understand. What he went through? I can’t let him be alone with that. I have to be there for him. I can’t leave him again.”

“Take all the time you need.” The response comes so easily from Hotch.

“You’re gonna be down two agents.” Funny how many ways one can feel guilty at once.

“We’ll utilize temporary reassignments. It will be fine. Be with Reid.” He sounds so sure.

Hotch sits with Morgan, an obelisk of support amidst the chaos. They don’t speak for a long while, Hotch planning the team’s next moves and Morgan staring intently at his knees. 

Morgan doesn’t know the words are coming out of his mouth until he’s already speaking them, “He’s gonna hate that we know.”

“He’s gonna know that we care.” Hotch’s phone rings and he rises to answer. The conversation lasts only ten seconds but his whole demeanor changes. “I have to go. We’ll need a statement from him once he’s ready. And Morgan? It’s important that you’re here. Even if he doesn’t know it right now, even if he isn’t ready to see you right away, what you’re doing is important.”

Morgan replays those words in his mind. It’s possible Reid is unconscious now, dreaming of far more pleasant realities. Or he’s lying there scared without anyone who loves him in reach. Morgan unconsciously scoots closer to the door. What if Reid doesn’t want to see him? Morgan wasn’t there when the kid needed him, and now he’s betrayed his trust, let Hotch listen to that voicemail and gotten the whole team involved. Morgan can’t control any of that now, he can just be here for Reid. For his friend. He can show Reid how loved he is. Hotch is right, that’s important. “Thanks, Hotch,” he calls out, but his boss is long gone. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there by the time Dr. Bijan comes out, but his stiff joints pop as he stands. 

“You can see him now, Morgan. He’s been asking for you.” She’s holding the door open for him, clipboard tucked to her chest. 

There’s a curtain separating the doorway from Reid’s bed, and Morgan finds himself pausing before it. He can hear movement beyond, knows there’s at least one nurse tending to Reid’s care. He slides the curtain just enough to fit through the gap, focusing on closing it behind him. Turning, he finally sees Reid. He’s facing away on the bed, dressed in a hospital gown tied loosely at the back of his neck. A thin blanket clings to him up to his waist, and Morgan can see the IV inserted into his arm, the heart monitor tracking each beat. 

“Hey, Kid.” Morgan doesn’t get a response, but he spoke so softly maybe he wasn’t heard.

The nurse moves past him, tasks complete, and then it’s just the two of them in the room. There’s a chair nearby and Morgan picks it up, carrying it around the bed to Reid’s front. Reid’s eyes are closed, so just in case he’s asleep, Morgan sets the chair down silently, gingerly lowering himself into it. This is better. He couldn’t keep an eye on the kid without him in sight, but this he can do. He can stay in this chair all night if it helps his Pretty Boy.

“Morgan?” Reid’s voice is still rough and his eyes are barely opening.

“Yeah, Reid, it’s Morgan.”

He reaches out the hand unburdened by needle and machinery, sliding it to the edge of the bed. “You came.”

“Yeah, I came. I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.” Morgan can hear the tightness in his voice, his tears seemingly endless.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again, but you’re here.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying with you, okay? You’re safe now.”

“You saved me.”

“I won’t let him hurt you again.” 

“I know.” With a smile, Reid lets his eyes fall shut, exhaustion fighting a winning battle. “Morgan? Will you hold my hand?”

Morgan delicately takes Reid’s slender hand in his. It’s cool to the touch but the skin is so soft.

“Thank you,” Reid sighs.

“Anything you need, Pretty Boy. I’m here for you.” This earns Morgan a sweet smile on sleepy lips. 

Morgan strokes Reid’s knuckles with a soft swipe of his thumb and watches Reid’s body slowly slacken. He thinks he’s asleep, but then a whisper escapes, “Morgan?”

“Yeah, Reid?”

“I love you.”

Morgan’s breath gets caught in his chest and he swallows down a lump. “I love you, too. So much. I’m here for the long haul.” He isn’t sure Reid hears, but he’ll say it again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer to write than intended! I'm sorry, I'm working through things, but the story will keep on continuing until it's finished. Thank you all for your incredible support :-)


	10. Ice

Spencer’s sleeping face pinches in pain, a small whimper escaping. Morgan still has one hand wrapped around his friend’s, but he brings the other up to smooth the stress from Spencer’s forehead, whispering, “You’re okay. I’m here, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer’s fingers fly around Morgan’s wrist, bringing with them tubes and plastic bulk, but he’s able to get enough of a grip to keep Morgan’s hand in place and bury his face into it. “Hurts.”

“Okay, let’s call your nurse.” Morgan is trying to decide which hand to pull back, which comfort to take from him, when he’s saved by a seemingly psychic medical professional swinging the door open.

Dr. Bijan slides the curtain aside, eyes still on a chart, before she focuses on her patient, “How are you doing, Dr. Reid?”

Morgan answers for him, “He’s in a lot of pain. Can you do something for him?”

She directs her response to Reid, “You’re on Acetaminophen; I’ll increase the dosage. Is the pain localized to your injuries?”

Still hiding in the safety of Morgan’s hold, Reid nods.

“That’s good. The Acetaminophen should also help with the swelling in your throat, though tracheal trauma can be unpredictable, so I’d like to keep you for observation for at least the next few hours. Would that be all right?”

Another nod, this time with a small, “Mmm-hmm,” and Reid’s grip relaxes. 

The doctor leaves and a nurse takes her place, administering the pain meds with delicate care and soothing voice. Reid only acknowledges them with the slightest sounds and nods, and as soon as those numbing affects flood his system, he’s out again. His fingers slip from Morgan’s arm and drop against the pillow, but Morgan leaves his hand there, just in case he needs it again.

It’s a long time to be alone with just the sounds of soft breaths and medical machines, and it gives Morgan time to think, to regret, to blame himself. It’s not productive, but it is persistent. His friend was being hurt, but Morgan hadn’t made himself approachable enough for Reid to come to him when he needed help. He was going to go through that trauma alone. If Reid’s phone hadn’t made that accidental call, would the kid even be alive right now?

Morgan’s phone chirps, loud in the silent room, and he uses his unclutched hand to slide it from his pocket. It’s a text message from Garcia, a picture of their potential James. Morgan stares at him, glaring at that face like it could shred him through the satellite connection. He can’t confirm the identity, has never seen the man, but if Garcia has a hunch, this has to be him.

Reid’s eyes blink open with a soft moan.

Morgan keeps his voice low, “How ya doing, Reid?”

“Better. Thirsty.” His throat sounds parched.

“Yeah, let’s get you something to drink,” Morgan presses the Nurse Call button, and they only have to wait a minute before one pops in. It’s possible she’s the same one as before, but maybe not; Morgan isn’t paying enough attention to anyone besides Reid. “Hey, he needs something to drink.”

“I’ll get you ice chips,” she smiles brightly at Reid even though he isn’t looking at her. “They’ll help soothe your throat.” She brings in what essentially amounts to an unflavored snow cone and a small metal spoon, explaining, “You’ll want to take small spoonfuls at a time, and go slow. Just let them melt on your tongue. I’m going to sit you up a bit, okay?”

Reid meets her eyes to nod, and it doesn’t hurt when he’s pushed into more of a sitting position. The pain meds are working.

She bends over, bringing the filled spoon to Reid’s lips and letting the chips slide in. Reid doesn’t chew, which earns a nod of approval, “Good. Now, would you like me to do this, or your friend?”

Reid’s eyes flash to Morgan, and that’s all the hint he needs. Morgan reaches out for the bowl, “I got it.”

“Remember,” she hands it over, “small amounts, and go slow.”

Morgan demonstrates for her, scooping up a bit and placing the tip of the spoon against Reid’s lips. He angles the spoon slowly so the chips pace themselves into his mouth. He knows what he’s doing, has fed himself enough ice chips during his own stubborn hospital stays through the years, and the nurse is properly impressed.

“Perfect. Just press that button if you need me again, okay?” She’s looking at Reid again, waiting, and Reid gives her a weak little smile, which considerably brightens her own. “Okay,” she verbally gives herself permission to leave and then promptly does so.

“You ready for more?” Morgan holds up the spoon in offer.

Reid nods and takes in another grateful dose of cooling moisture. His mouth is dry enough to absorb the first few spoonfuls, but then the liquid begins to heal his abused throat and he can’t help the soft moans and happy sighs. His pain is numbed and his throat is soothed and he’s warm and safe with Morgan.

Morgan sets the bowl down on the side of the bed when he sees Reid’s eyes close. “You falling asleep there?”

Reid shakes his head, “Comfy.”

“Well, that’s good!” Morgan can’t imagine being comfortable in Reid’s position, but he greedily accepts the positive shift.

“More?” Reid doesn’t open his eyes to make the request, trusting Morgan to understand. He does. They get down every cooling drop. “Thank you, Morgan. For taking care of me.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

Reid opens his eyes up, needing to see Morgan for the rest of this conversation, “The team?”

Morgan’s words are measured, “They’re working a local case.”

“Mine?”

He has to be honest. “Yeah, Hotch pulled some strings to make it a BAU case. You know we couldn’t let him get away.” Morgan is ready for humiliation, anger, tears, even for Reid to pull into himself and shut down. What he gets, however, is an understanding nod. 

“Like you said, he can’t be allowed to hurt anyone else.”

“Right now, my only concern is you, okay?” 

“You’ll…” Reid swallows, looking away. “You’ll stay?”

“I’m not leaving until you do.”

“What about the team?”

“They can handle the case. They’re the best. Speaking of, Garcia thinks she found him,” Morgan refuses to speak James’ name, worried how Reid might react, “and she sent over a picture. When you’re ready, do you think you could confirm it’s him?”

“I’m ready.”

“You’re sure?”

Reid nods. Morgan pulls up the image and sets the phone in Reid’s hand, for Reid to control when he’s confronted by that face. He looks immediately, a single tear sliding down his cheek the only emotion in his response, “That’s him.”

Morgan takes back his phone. “You did great, Kid. I’ll let them know.” He sends off a quick text and shoves the device back in his pocket. “Listen, Reid, they’re going to want to ask you some questions about what happened. I can stay here with you, or I can wait right out there in the hall, whatever you choose. Do you think you’ll be up for that today?”

His eyes lower to his lap and he clears his throat more out of nerves than need, “Do you think you could do it? And then it could be over?”

It wouldn’t be over. Cases like this are never that simple, unfortunately, but Reid knows that just as well as Morgan does, so if the kid wants to pretend for a while, Morgan will let him. “You can tell me. I’ll have to record it and share it with the team. Is that okay?”

Reid lifts his face back up and nods, so Morgan brings out his phone again and starts a new audio file. 

“It’s ready. Take your time.”

Reid slides his hand across the bed, and Morgan meets it halfway, squeezing his palm until he can see him relax. “My name is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he barely sounds like himself, voice weak and miserable, and it’s a powerful strength that lets him keep going. “I got home at 8:15 last night and found my window was open. I know we didn’t leave it that way. You told me not to. That’s when he announced his presence. James.” He winces at the name, a tear escaping. “I was too weak to stop him. He came up behind me and he grabbed me and I couldn’t move, and he put his hand over my nose and mouth to suffocate me and I thought I was going to die.” Panic seizes his breath, his body trembling.

“You’re okay,” Morgan squeezes his hand again, leaning closer. “He can’t hurt you here.”

His tightly shut eyes force out more tears, and then he’s nodding, at first rapidly up and down, and then slowly, acknowledging his safety. “I’m sorry.”

Morgan shakes his head, even though Reid can’t see him yet, “You’re doing great.”

Reid swallows, lets a few breaths calm him, and continues, “I don’t know how long I was unconscious. When I woke up I was blindfolded and my hands were tied behind my back, and he’d taken my clothes. He said… He said I needed to be punished. I tried to fight, but he pulled me down the bed and there was something tight around my throat and I couldn’t breathe and he just let me choke for  _ so long _ … When he finally let me breathe, he… he told me not to fight. I knew what he was going to do, but I couldn’t fight him or he’d kill me. I was so afraid to die... “ He breaks down again, moaning in anguish and shaking with the power of his trauma. 

Morgan moves to the bed, sitting by Reid’s knees, “Take your time.” Reid scrambles forward, collapsing against Morgan’s chest for comfort. Morgan wasn’t prepared, but he gets there quickly, wrapping his arms around his back and holding him close. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“Morgan, he wanted to kill me! I loved him and he tried to kill me!”

He feels his heart clench at that and presses a kiss into Reid’s hair, “We’re gonna get him. He’ll never hurt you or anyone else ever again. You’re safe now.” Reid is still sobbing, horrible sounds of agony ripping from him, and all Morgan can do is rub his trembling back. He hopes in the official version of this statement, these minutes of suffering tears will be edited out.

Finally, Reid pulls back, his face red and damp but determined. “You’ll need my statement to put him away. I can finish.” He picks up the phone, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth to catch his soft voice, “I begged James one hundred and forty seven times to stop. He choked me three more times, twice to unconsciousness. While I was awake, he… he raped me eight times, and each time he tried to hurt me more. He kept telling me to cry for him, that I deserved it. He’s a power-assertive rapist. I don’t… I don’t remember when it was over. I know he was choking me while… while he was inside me… and then, you were there. You saved me. You saved my life. Thank you.”

Morgan takes the phone and stops the recording. He titles it with the date and words “Dr. Spencer Reid Full Statement,” so the team can prepare themselves before listening, then uploads it to their secure database. It’s done.

Reid is staring at the phone’s screen, thinking over everything the team is about to hear in his own voice, and his arms come protectively around himself.

“Hey,” Morgan drops a hand to his shoulder, gently squeezing, “you did great. I’m proud of you.”

Reid scoots to the edge of the bed, against the side rail, “Could- Could you lie here with me? Please? I don’t need much room, I’m just cold, and it’s too much right now.”

Minding the tubes and wires, Morgan drops against the pillows, chin over Reid’s head and arm around his middle, “I’ve got you, Reid.” He can feel Reid press his face into his chest, clutching his shirt to keep him near, and Morgan just holds him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are amazing. Thank you so much for the support you show this story. I seriously feel the love.


	11. Held

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings, this chapter gets... uncomfortable.

Reid is discharged that evening, wheeled as far as the exit in a blue pair of scrubs and hospital slippers, and then he and Morgan are on their own in his recovery. Morgan gets an arm around Reid’s back to help him walk, and it’s slow. There is as much Acetaminophen flowing through Reid as is medically advisable, but each step awakens a deep ache, and he’s biting back whimpers and gasps until it’s too much and he needs a break in the middle of the parking lot. “Wait, please,” he gasps out, hunched over and hanging from Morgan’s grasp.

“Hey,” Morgan’s voice is patient, “you should take it easy. How about you wait here and I’ll go get the car?”

Reid’s body answers for him, pressing and clinging desperately.

“I’ll only be gone two minutes. You can just rest against this light pole.”

“Don’t leave me! I’m sorry, please don’t leave me!” Reid is shaking now, fear assaulting his whole being, so Morgan changes tactics. 

“ _ I’m _ sorry, Kid. I hear you, I won’t leave you.” He sighs, planning. “How do you feel about me carrying you?”

“Carrying me?”

“Yeah,” Morgan steps back to meet Reid’s eyes, “bridal style, up against my chest.” Morgan pats his chest for emphasis and Reid’s eyes go there, to the strong pectoral muscles. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

Reid’s bottom lip lodges itself between his teeth, but he nods. “Okay.”

“Put your arms around my neck. All right, ready?” At Reid’s consent, Morgan’s arms grip at his waist and knees and hoist him up. He can feel Reid tense, but there’s no sound of pain, so he starts walking. Reid’s face presses under Morgan’s chin. “You doing okay?”

His voice is muffled against Morgan’s shirt, “I feel like a child.”

“Well, that’s just because you’ve never had a date carry you. I once invited this corporate lawyer out to dinner, and she was dressed to the nines, you know? Expensive hair, expensive dress, expensive bag, everything. Then, out of nowhere, it rained. Scratch that, it poured. She was wearing these Jimmy Choos, brand new, bought that morning, and she was not going to get them wet. So, I carried her. I carried her seven blocks to the car, just like this.”

Reid relaxes in his hold but doesn’t say anything more. Morgan isn’t parked much further, and he sets Reid down against the back door gingerly, waiting until his feet are firmly planted before letting go. He gets him in the passenger seat and Reid’s position is awkward, uncomfortably twisted onto his side, and Morgan buckles him in.

Morgan drops behind the wheel and slides his key into the ignition, then pauses, looking at his charge. He wraps a hand around Reid’s, slowly to gauge his response, then gives it a squeeze, “You’re gonna be okay.” He thinks he can feel Reid squeeze back.

They don’t speak on the drive; Reid doesn’t even make a sound. Morgan parks at the curb and rounds the car before Reid can unbuckle, “Want me to carry you again?”

“No, I can make it.” Reid isn’t moving, still strapped in and sideways.

“You sure? I don’t mind.” He plasters on a cheeky grin, “Toting you around will make up for the lost gym time.”

Reid winces, ducking his face into the upholstery, and Morgan sighs.

“I was kidding. I just want to help.”

“I know,” he turns his face back, still bowed toward his chest, “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Let me just get you to the couch. You can decide what you want to do next, okay?”

Reid’s nod is tight and he still isn’t looking up, but he mutters a meek, “Okay.”

Morgan unfastens the belt then scoops him easily back into his arms. “You can tell no one about this, but I happen to own the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy on DVD.”

“Are you secretly a nerd?” Reid’s voice is quiet, shy to tease.

“If by nerd you mean I appreciate Liv Tyler for the fine actress she is, then yes.” There are brown paper bags on his stoop, and he steps around them. He has to lean Reid against the wall to get the door open, but then he’s picking him back up and carrying him into the living room. He lays him down on the couch, letting his long body take every cushion, then grabs the blanket over the back to tuck around him. “I’m gonna go get those groceries from outside, okay?” He knows to keep Reid in the loop, let him know he’s not being abandoned.

“Groceries?”

“Yeah, I ordered some stuff while you were with the doctor. Nothing was perishable so I just had them leave it for me. One of those bags is all Jello.” He smiles, hoping to excite, and he gets a twitch of a smile in return. It’s enough.

Morgan heard the diet Reid will have to be on the next few days to avoid aggravating his injuries: high liquid and no fiber. Basically broth and juice, but Jello is close enough, and he knows the kid loves it, so he stocked up. He’s been miserable enough to suffer bland food.

“I’ll get you a spoon and leave the Jello right here, then I can start up Lord of the Rings and we can see how far we get before we both pass out.”

He heats himself up a bowl of that leftover chilli, scraping out the remnants from his Tupperware, and gets the movie going. Reid hasn’t started in on his Jello collection yet, but Morgan isn’t going to push. Frodo hasn’t even left the Shire by the time he’s wolfed down his dinner, and he lazily plops his bowl on the coffee table. That’s tomorrow’s problem.

“Morgan?”

He leans forward to see Reid around the armrest, “Yeah, Kid?”

“I’m…” he swallows harshly, scrunching his nose in irritation. “I need to shower.”

“Okay,” Morgan leans forward to pause the movie. “I can get you there. 

“Can- Can I try walking? I just- you can’t keep carrying me.”

“I can and will, as long as you need me, but sure. Do you need help up?”

“No, I’ve got it.” Reid starts to sit up, but then there’s pressure and pain and his breath hitches as he collapses onto his back. His hands fly up to hide his face and his voice is thick with tears, “Why did he hurt me so much?”

Morgan drops to his knees on the floor beside Reid’s head. “The team is gonna find him and make him answer for it, but it has everything to do with him and nothing to do with you, okay? You didn’t deserve it.”

“I hate that I can’t move on my own.” He’s on the very edge of crying, damp-eyed with emotion lumped large in his throat.

“It’s only temporary.” He extends his arms invitingly, “Let me feel like I’m helping, okay?”

Reid’s hands come down so he can send Morgan an expression of misery, “I’m in your house. You bought me food. I came here with nothing.”

Morgan lays his hand over Reid’s, the gentle weight pressing over his heart, “Let me help you.”

Reid lifts his arms, about all he can do to assist, and then Morgan has him up against that strong chest again. He whispers, still feeling so vulnerable, “Thank you.”

“I’ve got you.” With a shoulder he shoves the curtain aside, then stands Reid fully dressed in the tub. “I know you’re still a little shaky on your feet, so I’ll just be right out there, okay?” Morgan points to the guest bed, where Reid can see his pajamas neatly folded on the pillow. Reid nods so Morgan slides the curtain back to give him privacy. 

There’s a thud as slippers and scrubs are dropped onto the bathroom tile and then the water starts. Morgan lays back on the mattress and thinks. He’s winging this. No matter the experience he had being victimized as a child, he has only vague ideas of how to help Reid now. All he’s done is provide food and shelter, the basic needs of a housecat. The kid is going to need to talk, preferably with a therapist, and more immediately he needs to heal. He needs safety, to regain his confidence, to know his would-be killer is off the streets, to deal with this trauma and move ahead, to trust in love again. And Morgan is providing  _ food and shelter. _

The water stops and Morgan hops off the bed, setting those pajamas on the counter. “I’ve got your towel here,” he warns before pushing it through the curtain. “And your PJs are on the counter. Call if you need anything.” He’s nearly out of the bathroom when he hears his name. He stops, turns back, “Yeah?”

“Could… Could I wear something of yours?”

“Sure,” Morgan shrugs. “I’ll be right back.” He rummages through his drawers for something with enough elastic to stay on Reid’s smaller frame but that will hang loosely around his healing body. He finds an old FBI tee from his training days, and something about that emblem across Reid’s chest seems like protection. A pair of mesh gym shorts can serve as underwear, and Morgan finds the pants he loaned him last time. Last time Reid was raped. The thought punches hard and Morgan has to swallow back bile. Now isn’t the time. 

He steps back in the bathroom and sets the bundle next to Reid’s clothes. “You good in there?”

“I’m okay,” comes a meek response.

“I’ll be in the bedroom. If you fall, I’m coming back,” Morgan smiles, hoping his joke lands, but there isn’t a response. 

It’s a while that Morgan is left alone with his worries and self-doubts, but then Reid emerges in those baggy clothes and he looks better, soothed and strengthened, and it blows the mental clouds away. Reid’s arms wrap tight around his chest and his posture is determined when he meets Morgan’s eyes, “You’re a really good friend. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

A warm smile fills Morgan’s face, “Lucky us, we don’t have to find out.”

Reid nods and takes in a shaky breath, “Can we continue The Fellowship of the Ring? I can walk.”

“Sure, lead the way.” Morgan trusts that his friend can walk, but he’s going to stay close just in case.

Reid lowers himself carefully onto those cushions, landing softly on his side. He scoots down, leaving room to sit by his head, and eyes rounded in plea look up at Morgan, “Could you sit with me?”

“Yeah, Pretty Boy,” Morgan plops down within inches of him, perching his arm over the back of the couch, and clicks play. As the movie progresses, Reid’s knuckles press up against the side of Morgan’s knee, then his fingers slide up over. He’s grounding himself through touch and that’s fine by Morgan. Halfway through the film, Reid scoots up and touches the crown of his head to Morgan’s hip, and Morgan encourages this by resting his arm along Reid’s side. Reid can have whatever he asks for. He seems to sense this permission and rests his cheek on Morgan’s thigh, fingers clutched in denim. 

Morgan drops his other hand down and slides it softly through Reid’s damp hair, and he can tell by the way his breathing slows that Reid is near sleep. “Hey, Reid, you want to go to bed?”

Reid snuffles himself back to consciousness, his fingers unconsciously tightening against Morgan’s leg, “Can I sleep with you?”

“That’s the plan. Come on, I’ve got an extra toothbrush.” 

Reid doesn’t even frown when Morgan picks him up this time, and he leans heavily against the bathroom counter with Morgan’s arm around his waist to brush his teeth before getting scooped up again. He’s tucked in, surrounded by that comforting aroma he’s so long associated with safety, and Morgan slides in next to him.

Immediately, Reid rolls over into Morgan’s side, cheek over his heart. Morgan’s arms naturally come around to secure him in place and Reid burrows in closer. Morgan brushes a soothing hand up and down Reid’s back and feels his friend melt against him. With a contented sigh, Reid is out.

James is kissing him. His hands are grabbing Reid’s flesh like he just can’t get enough of him and Reid loves it, loves feeling this desired, this attractive. James runs his hand under Reid’s leg and pulls his knee up to his chest to get a better grip on his ass, moaning directly into Reid’s mouth. His hand is tight with want and Reid gasps, throwing back his head in extacy.

There’s a dry finger at his entrance and Reid jolts at the intrusion. His hand blindly reaches for the drawer with lube but then James is flipping him onto his stomach, finger shoving deeper.

“Wait!” Reid cries, flinching away.

“Shh, shh,” James shushes him, and then a wad of spit lands on Reid’s asscheek. That probing finger slides through it and this time it glides in more easily, but it isn’t pleasurable.

“James, stop-”

“Just the tip,” James cuts him off, wiggling his finger to stretch him quickly.

“I don’t-”

“Just let me try it.”

“Please, I don’t like this,” Reid tries to pull away but James’s knees are gripping his thighs and there’s a heavy hand on his lower back.

“Why every time I want to try something do you pussy out? I make you feel good; I deserve to feel good, too. Did I or did I not give you a blowjob last night?”

“Yes-”

“Then let me do this. Don’t be so fucking selfish.”

“Let me give you a blowjob! I don’t want to do this-” Reid is cut off by his own scream as James shoves in, and it isn’t just the tip, it’s his entire length that stabs rough and deep.

“Shit,” James gasps, pulling back out. He turns Reid over and pulls him into his arms, “I’m so sorry, Baby! I shouldn’t have done that!”

Reid trembles in his hold, eyes wide in shock, “W-Why?”

“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

A sob shakes Reid harder.

“I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you,” his hand slides up between Reid’s legs.

“No!” Reid shouts, twisting and squirming, and James clutches him with both hands to keep him still.

“I’ll just hold you! I’ll just hold you, promise. Like this.” He lifts Reid up so his head rests on James’ shoulder. “I won’t do that again.”

Reid’s breath hitches with tears, “You promise?”

“I promise. I’ll never do that again,” he plants a gentle kiss on Reid’s forehead. “I love you, Baby.”

Reid allows his body to relax. It’s over now. He knows this is the part where he’s supposed to find comfort in that touch, but he can’t. He knows what those hands are capable of now and they terrify him. They’re on him, holding him down, hurting him, and he tries to get away but he’s trapped.

But then the room shifts. He isn’t home, he’s in Morgan’s bedroom and the arms aren’t hurting but calming. Morgan is smiling at him, handsome and kind, and Reid feels safe. He smiles back, tilting his head for a sweet kiss. Morgan’s lips feel just as soft as he’d imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I know I say this every time, but your support means so much to me!


	12. Blue

Reid’s body needs to heal, so it sleeps. And sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. He barely moves, hidden beneath the ample covers as his mind aimlessly drifts. He dreams of James, of fear and pain and desperate pleas, but then his thoughts are rescued by Morgan’s comforting arms and warm smile. He lingers there, soothed by imagined presence.

Morgan keeps the house quiet, sticking close to the cracked door of his bedroom in case Reid calls out for him. He waits until noon before tip-toeing back in with a glass of water. A mass of honey-colored hair emerges from the bedding to give away the genius’ location. Morgan perches himself on the edge of the bed and whispers, “Reid? Reid, can you wake up for me?”

The long, slim lump does not respond.

Morgan folds down the comforter to reveal a peacefully unconscious face. He raises his voice just a single octave, careful not to startle, “I brought you some water.”

Reid winces, a confused noise squeezing out of his throat, and turns his face away.

“Come on, Kid, open those eyes.”

He doesn’t, but speaking is the next best thing, “Hmm? M’rg’n?”

“Yeah, it’s me. You don’t have an IV anymore. We’ve got to keep you hydrated. Can you sit up?”

Reid drags a hand over his face and his lower lip pops out in a small pout, “Tired…”

“I know. You just need to drink this and then you can go back to sleep, okay?”

With a sleepy little huff, Reid nods, his eyes still not open.

“Go ahead and sit up against the headboard.”

Reid tries, he clearly does, but he just ends up pushing blankets down the bed.

“I can help you. Open your eyes and let me know it’s okay to help you sit up?”

His eyes shut tighter first, like his lids need a running start, and hazel orbs finally blearily peek out. His head bobs up and down in permission.

Setting the glass on the nightstand, Morgan gets his hands under Reid’s arms and gently lifts him to sit up against the pillows. Reid lets out a little moan of discomfort and Morgan smoothes a hand over his messy hair, “Just a few sips, okay?” He presses the glass against Reid’s hand, and his grip is so weak Morgan keeps a hold of the bottom to keep it from slipping away. 

They bring the cool moisture to Reid’s lips for the smallest sip. Reid sighs, a smile forming at the sensation, and goes in for another. He’s slow to swallow, eyes closed again, and he starts to slide sideways toward the mattress. 

“One more sip,” Morgan prompts, free hand propping him up by the shoulder. 

Reid tips the glass back, taking in a mouthful. A drop spills from his lip and down his chin, but he swallows most of it. It’s enough. It has to be, because half-sitting there at that funny angle, Reid falls back to sleep.

“You did good, Kid,” Morgan pats his chest, then sets the water down to pull Reid into a more comfortable position. “We’ll try again later.”

Morgan gives it three hours, enough time for a REM cycle, and returns with a cup of Jello. He sets it with the water and repeats the wake-up ritual with a whispered greeting, “Wakey wakey, Pretty Boy.” He drags the blanket back down the sleeping form, and this time when the cold air hits, Reid reacts. The annoyed scowl looks comical on such a sweet face and Morgan chuckles to himself. “Come on, I brought Jello this time.”

“Jello?” Reid perks up, rested eyes fluttering open.

“Yeah,” Morgan smiles affectionately, “Jello. Come on, I’ll sit up against the headboard and you can lean on me.” This probably would have been more effective last time, but Morgan grants himself a learning curve. He lifts a pillow to cushion the wooden headboard and leans against it, patting his chest in invitation.

Reid shifts, whimpering slightly as he awakens his injuries. 

“Here, I’ve got Tylenol,” Morgan pulls open his bedside drawer, fingers rummaging through Vick’s and Icy Hot containers before plucking out the painkillers. He gets Reid’s back against his chest and secures him with an arm around his waist, then drops two pills in his hand. “Let’s do those first.”

Reid sips water to wash down the Tylenol, and as soon as the cool liquid touches his tongue he realizes just how thirsty he is and starts to gulp it down.

“Easy there,” Morgan brushes his fingers up and down Reid’s stomach in a calming motion. “Slow sips.”

At the sound of his voice, Reid obeys instantly, and a gentle moan escapes as the water soothes his abused throat. He tips the glass all the way back, tongue darting out to capture the last drop.

“Good,” Morgan praises, trading the glass for Jello and a spoon.

“Blue!” Reid’s cheer is sedate, tired and weak, but his smile is happy. “One of my favorites!”

Morgan laughs, “Then you can tell me what it’s supposed to taste like.”

“It tastes like blue,” Spencer states like one of his many facts.

Morgan rolls his eyes with a smile, “Okay, Genius.”

Reid lifts the first bite of wiggly confection to his lips and hums happily around the spoon. He loves the taste of blue. He digs for more, squishing the silly substance against the roof of his mouth.

Morgan revels in the happy sounds coming from his friend. Reid has just been through Hell, raped and strangled to the brink of death, and here he is, healing and allowing himself joy in blue Jello. He rests a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. He came so close to losing Reid, and he’s so grateful to have him here now.

Reid scrapes out the last colorful morsal and drops the spoon into the spent cup. His head droops heavily back against Morgan’s shoulder; he didn’t have a lot of energy to begin with and he spent most of it on that meager meal, so he trusts Morgan to support him.

A memory flashes and Reid stiffens. Cold horror roots in his stomach and he has to force breath into his lungs. It’s terrifying to ask but he has to know, “Morgan? Last night, did… Did I… Did I kiss you?” 

Morgan’s eyes widen in surprise. He makes sure not to loosen his hold on the kid - he can’t let him feel rejected while this vulnerable. “I didn’t think you’d remember that.”

“Oh, no…”

“Hey, no, it’s okay-”

“No, it’s not! I, of anyone, should appreciate the requirement of consent!” He pulls away but Morgan doesn’t let go.

“Reid, listen to me. You’re my best friend. You didn’t scare me or hurt me, I promise. You have my consent. Kissing is fine, see?” Morgan demonstrates by pressing a kiss into Reid’s hair. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Morgan kisses another lock.

Reid relaxes back against him, “I do like that.”

“Good,” Morgan holds Reid close, sharing warmth and comfort.

Reid turns his head, tucking it under Morgan’s chin, and lets out a shaky sigh, “I just wanted to find happiness with someone. For someone to want to wake up next to me, to hold my hand while we drink coffee, to be excited to see me when we get home and talk with me over dinner. Little things: baking cookies, walking in the park, reading together on the couch.” His breath hitches with tears, “I want that so much! And instead I got…”

“Kid, you’re gonna get all that, I promise.”

“Do any of us get that? With this job, are any of us happy?”

“If anyone deserves it, it’s you, Pretty Boy.”

“Thank you, Morgan.” The words are a relief, lifting the burden of his darker thoughts. In Morgan’s protective arms, he lets himself sleep.

Reid rests another day and a half, with Morgan intermittently waking him with more Jello or broth and holding him until he falls back to sleep, until Reid finally feels well enough to walk out to the living room on his own power.

Morgan looks up from the TV with surprised delight, “Well, look who’s feeling better!”

“I’ve had a really good nurse.” Reid lowers himself to the couch without the slightest wince, smiling at this accomplishment.

“Can this nurse get you anything?” Morgan grins. “You up for dinner?”

Reid thinks a moment, tongue sliding over his lips, then sends a plea with his eyes, “Is there more Jello?”

“So much more,” Morgan gets him a cup with a spoon, plus more water because his charge has been drinking the bare minimum.

“Red,” Reid smiles at the offering, pulling off the lid.

“Is it supposed to be cherry flavored?”

Reid shrugs, “No one knows.” He consumes it all with happy hums and sighs, and Morgan can see him coming back to himself.

“Want to watch a nature documentary on elephant migration?”

Reid shows obvious interest, but swallows it back, “We can watch sports.”

“Game just ended. Besides, I like elephants.” Morgan clicks over to the Discovery Channel just in time to catch an adorable baby elephant clumsily chase its mother through the muddy grasses.

Reid scoots near Morgan, their legs touching. Morgan lifts his arm in invitation, and when Reid cuddles into his side he drops his arm over his shoulders to hold him close. Morgan likes the gentle weight against him, the soft warmth Reid gives off. He lifts a hand to draw his fingers through Reid’s silky locks, feeling his friend press into the touch with a pleasured sigh. It’s a wonder to him the kid is this cuddly, this responsive to touch once he’s comfortable. Morgan could certainly get used to this. It isn’t long before Reid falls asleep against his chest, and Morgan soaks in this sweet moment.

Their troubles are not over. Reid’s attacker is still out there somewhere, and after the arrest will come a trial where Reid’s injuries will be displayed as evidence and the kid himself might have to testify, might have to face his rapist in court, but for now, they are granted this peace, and they take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on the next chapter. I'm sorry for taking a month to update, but my doctor put me on some new psych meds and they are working wonders, so progress should return to normal. Which is, admittedly, not super fast updates, but I shouldn't take a month again. A month and a day, I guess. If I'm going to confess, I might as well be completely honest with it! Thank you so much for reading and supporting this story. You are wonderful, every one of you!


	13. Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, anxiety medication takes away the urgency to get things done in a timely manner. Which is a fancy way to saying that I WAS WRONG about how long this chapter would take to write! And it's such a short chapter, but I promised myself I'd get something posted for my birthday, so here goes. Thank you for coming back to the fandom's slowest fic :-)

Reid awakens to birdsong streaming in with the golden sun and it’s the first time that opening his eyes doesn’t rouse the ache in his core. He feels mended, whole in body if not yet in mind.

“Morning, Pretty Boy.”

Reid turns over to find Morgan lying next to him, arms tossed haphazardly over his chest and above his head. Reid beams at him, fully embracing how comfortable he feels in this moment, in this bed with his closest friend. “Good morning.” Even his voice has cleared up. A quick glance at his wrists shows his bruises are fading, as well.

“Are you hungry?” Morgan asks, and it’s Reid’s gurgling stomach that answers. They laugh, light and airy, and Morgan rephrases his question. “Would you like more Jello, or do you think you’re ready for something more? I can make scrambled eggs.”

“I like scrambled eggs.”

“Eggs and coffee, coming right up.” Morgan rises from the bed dressed in a tank top and loose boxers, and languidly stretches his toned muscles as he walks across the carpet.

Reid follows close behind Morgan to the kitchen, taking a seat at the table while his host cooks. It makes him feel guilty and he starts to get up and offer help, but Morgan just tisks at him and reminds him he’s still healing. Reid doesn’t argue; it feels nice to be cared for.

Morgan sets down two fluffy platefuls and brings them their steaming mugs of coffee, pushing the box of sugar toward Reid.

At the first bite of his eggs, Reid’s eyes widen and he lets out a hungry moan, shoveling in another warm mouthful.

Morgan huffs a laugh, “Good?”

Reid nods with a hearty agreement.

As they sip their coffee, Morgan’s hand comes to rest over Reid’s, just the light press of fingers. Reid stares at their hands in surprise, then realization dawns and he smiles shyly up at Morgan. He turns his hand over, fingers coming around Morgan’s in a loose hold, and then Morgan’s hand curls up to grip back. Morgan has to eat with his left hand, but they hold hands all through breakfast, just like Reid has always wanted.

Dishes are left for later and they drop down into the comfortable couch. Morgan has a few paperback crime novels for Reid to tear through as he surfs daytime television. Reid leans steadily closer through a celebrity talk show and Morgan’s fingers card gently through his hair. Reid sighs, pressing into the contact. He feels so cared for.

By the time Reid reaches the page where, once again, the butler is proven to be the culprit, his eyes slip shut and he’s asleep.

A loud noise startles Reid awake. His eyes dart around, trying to prove to himself he’s safe, protected, but he’s alone. A knock sounds at the door and a whimper, pathetic and weak, escapes his lips. He knows he’s being ridiculous, acting as if danger itself is knocking, but there is someone there, someone Reid can’t see, and they’re close, so there’s no stopping the trembling of his limbs or the dread flowing like ice in his veins. He’s scared, wants to call out for help, for Morgan, but all that comes out is a sob.

Another knock and Reid flinches, feeling it vibrate in his bones. He bites his lip to hold in another cry, hoping if he’s quiet enough they’ll go away.

Footsteps approach from behind and Reid recognizes them as Morgan’s. He can relax. Morgan is here. Morgan won’t let anything happen. Except Morgan is heading straight for the door, twisting the lock to let whoever is out there in. Reid cowers into the cushions of the couch, eyes squeezed tight around his tears.

“Shit,” Morgan’s whisper is close and Reid’s body jolts again. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” There’s a rusting thud on the coffee table and then warm arms surround him, pulling him against that strong chest. “No one’s gonna hurt you. You’re safe here. I got groceries delivered. I should have just had her leave the bag on the porch, I’m sorry, but she’s gone now. It’s okay.”

The relief is so profound it jostles loose a sharp pang of shame. Reid was frightened by groceries. He thought a Safeway employee arrived to kill him, and with what? A bag of oranges? He’s crying over a delivery knock, actually crying, tears pouring down his cheeks and into Morgan’s shirt and the humiliation of this just makes him cry harder.

Gentle hands run up and down Reid’s back as Morgan whispers comforts into his hair, “You’re okay. Shhh, I’m right here. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

Of course Reid is okay. There’s no place safer in the world than in these arms. He takes a deep breath to calm himself, and when it shudders out of him he tries again. “I’m okay,” is choked out through lingering tears and guilt follows it up with a pitched, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay to be scared sometimes.” Morgan squeezes him in a brief hug before pulling away. “Wanna see what we’ve got here?” He tugs the paper bag closer and pulls out items one by one, “Eggs, sugar, flour, butter…” With a waggle of his eyebrows, he waves a small package in the air, “Chocolate chips.”

Reid’s eyes widen with hope, “Are we making cookies?”

“Would you like that?”

Eyes finally drying, Reid nods, “Yes.”

“That’s good, because I’m going to need help eating these.” Morgan holds Reid’s gaze, his own eyes twinkling until a smile finally brightens Reid’s face. Patting his own firm stomach, Morgan’s expression turns comically serious, “Gotta keep this figure.”

Reid’s laughter is a light and happy release and he can see Morgan’s shoulders relax in relief. Morgan really cares about him. He knows he’s had this thought multiple times this morning, but it is still warming and chases away the last of that freezing fear.

“Come on,” Morgan extends a hand to help him rise, “let’s get baking.”

It’s not a small kitchen, but they stay close as they crack eggs and sift flour, and Reid soaks it in. He’s safe and living out what has only been fantasy. He has someone to bake cookies with. He has someone who  _ wants _ to bake cookies with him.

As their first batch warms, the air fills with the sweet aromas of vanilla and chocolate. Reid breathes it in, smiling softly to himself. “Thank you so much.” He’s surprised to hear the emotion in his voice, didn’t realize how close he is to tears. “This… Today has meant so much to me.”

Morgan gives Reid’s shoulder a squeeze, “I just want you to be happy.”

“You make me really happy.”

Their eyes meet, shining and searching. Breath caught somewhere in his chest, Reid’s body moves forward of its own volition, seeking Morgan. He isn’t aware of what he’s doing, just knows everything feels warm and pure and right.

With a soft slide of lips, their kissing. Rather, Reid is kissing Morgan. That realization stabs painfully in his chest: once again, he has kissed his friend without permission. Drawing in a quick breath, Reid breaks away, “I- I’m sorry-”

Reid is silenced by Morgan’s lips pressing back into his. All that dread and angst melts away, everything feels right again. 

Morgan’s kiss is sweet, hand coming to caress Reid’s cheek and Reid can’t help but think, ‘Finally!’ Finally he knows how it feels to be touched like he’s precious, to be kissed with love. Reid focuses on remembering every microsecond until Morgan inevitably pulls away.

Eyes closed, Reid cherishes the fading sensation on his lips. The kiss was a gift, like this whole day has been, a moment for him to feel worthy of connection, and he breathes out a heartfelt, “Thank you.”


End file.
